


Of Icebergs and Waterlines

by Corisanna



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Headcanon, Introspection, It Gets Worse, Meddling, Pre-Canon, Shinigami/Zanpakuto Bond, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Stealth Crossover, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corisanna/pseuds/Corisanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story cobbled together from incomplete information can be drastically different from the events that actually occurred. Such is the case with the commonly-known history of the tragic friendship of Tōshirō Hitsugaya and Sōjirō Kusaka.</p><p>An attempt to reconcile Bleach Movie 2: DiamondDust Rebellion with Bleach canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Halcyon Days

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is my attempt to rationalize the premise of the second Bleach movie, The DiamondDust Rebellion. There needed to be something meaningful behind Hitsugaya and Kusaka's friendship and an equally meaningful reason for Kusaka to have become unstable enough to turn on Hitsugaya so drastically in Central 46. There also had to be an explanation for the second, different Hyōrinmaru, why the seemingly arbitrary law existed, how things were smoothed over publicly, and how Kusaka was revived. My goal is to fill all this out with context rather than directly change what was portrayed in the movie. **This story presumes that the characters in the movie either didn't know what happened behind the scenes or didn't understand what they observed.**
> 
> I have the whole story roughly outlined. I thought it would only be three chapters but whoops, it's running longer. I can't promise how frequently I'll update. I haven't written chaptered fic in about a decade. Please bear with me.

x§x§x

x§x§x

x§x§x

 

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”

― Anaïs Nin, _The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934_

 

x§x§x **CHAPTER 1: HALCYON DAYS** x§x§x

 

The day Tōshirō Histugaya met Sōjirō Kusaka started normally enough for a day at Shin'ō Academy. Tōshirō woke up early and squinted out the dormitory window at the predawn sky until the sense of yearning and cold from his dreams had faded. He dragged himself to his feet and turned to check how much frost had collected around him while he slept-- much more hoar frost than hard rime that day and covering a much smaller area than a few months prior; decent progress, but a lot of room for improvement. He cleaned up the melting frost, folded his futon, washed his face and combed his hair, shrugged on his uniform, tucked his kodachi-sized asauchi into his hakama-himo, and hurried to the cafeteria for breakfast. He ate as quickly as was polite then hurried back to his tiny room to fetch his supplies for the day. Quite the normal morning.

He broke his schedule that day for something most of the students would consider unusual but which Tōshirō had grown used to. Instead of going to his usual fifth year classes he detoured toward the office of the Chief Instructor for the sixth year Special Accelerated Class. The big man looked down at the serious little boy rather skeptically as he handed over a timetable for sixth year courses. Tōshirō bowed respectfully in thanks and found his own way to his new morning class just in time. He was not given any special introduction to his new classmates; he was simply expected to smoothly follow the lecture and theory, essentially left to sink or swim as a test on the instructor's part. His new classmates peered curiously at him throughout the lesson. Tōshirō took notes diligently and vowed to visit the library after the evening meal in search of more context for the lesson. He was so absorbed in his task that the bell for mid-morning break startled him.

This was Sōjirō's first good look at the boy who sat several rows behind him. As Sōjirō passed out papers at the teacher's request, the bell rang and he saw the boy jolt and look about, blinking wide eyes and fluffy white hair reminding Sōjirō of a surprised snowy owl. A smile tugged at his lips as he finished his classroom duties. Ten minutes later, most of the students were standing clustered among the long rows of tables. Sōjirō, curious, sought out white hair. He found the boy sitting alone, a distant look on his face as he stared out the window. Deciding to approach the boy himself, Sōjirō wove his way through the aisles until he stood before him. He casually leaned a hip on the table in front of the boy. He didn't bother with formalities before he vaguely gestured at him and greeted him with a cheery and rather tongue-in-cheek, “Are you _the_ Tōshirō Hitsugaya, the young genius everyone's talking about?”

Tōshirō blinked at him, again reminiscent of an owl. “Who're you?”

Sōjirō offered him an easy grin. “I'm Sōjirō Kusaka. I wanted to welcome you to our class. Skipping up to sixth year before most people finish first-- that's impressive.”

Tōshirō looked away and shifted uncomfortably. “Not really.”

Sōjirō cocked his head to one side and looked at him askance. “Eh? It really is something impressive. I've heard you're powerful, too. You should be proud.”

Tōshirō shifted his gaze in another direction. He thought of his grandmother shivering and suffocating under the freezing weight of his uncontrolled power. “Not really.”

Sōjirō blinked in surprise. “Most students would be bragging about having so much reiatsu and learning so quickly.”

Tōshirō met his gaze for a moment, then glanced away. “I suppose I'm not most students then.”

A long, awkward silence stretched between them as Tōshirō wondered when Sōjirō would leave him alone and Sōjirō wondered what sort of puzzle he had stumbled upon.

Tōshirō's reputation had preceded him. First had come gossip about such a young boy having been admitted to what was essentially a military academy. Next had come disbelieving whispers when the boy had started successfully plowing through the course material. Each time the boy was skipped forward a year a wave of incredulous gossip would move through the student body. Some were amazed at his progress and were curious how far he could go. Others were jealous or resentful and waited for the day the boy would hit an academic brick wall. Still others were superficially interested at best. Sōjirō counted himself among the curious. He had heard many things about Tōshirō Hitsugaya. He was known for his single-minded focus on his studies. He was often unnervingly serious for someone so young. He did not participate in any extracurricular activities. He did not spend downtime with friends. Actually, he seemed to not _have_ any friends. He spent most of his free time in the library or various training areas. He was known to throw himself into whatever task was at hand and practice until scheduling or exhaustion stopped him. Yet now Sōjirō found that he did not seem to take any pride in his progress. It did not seem to correspond to the sheer effort the boy was exerting in order to learn as quickly as possible. So: A puzzle.

Sōjirō also thought he looked rather lonely.

The bell for their next class rang before Sōjirō could decide what to do or say. He reluctantly went back to his seat as the next instructor entered.

x§x§x

Sōjirō did not approach Tōshirō again for several days, though he did make a point of greeting him in passing. Tōshirō's face ranged from stunned to baffled every time he did so. It was both amusing and sad. It seemed the student body loved to talk _about_ the boy but balked at actually speaking _to_ him. Hitsugaya moved through the school in his own little cloud of isolation. Sōjirō supposed it must be difficult to make any firm ties with people who would only be your classmates for a month or two at most. The boy's dedication to his studies to the exclusion of all else only made matters worse for him socially. All things considered, it was obvious how the boy had come to be so separate from his peers.

It still bothered Sōjirō that someone with such talent and dedication could be so alone in a crowd.

Sōjirō himself wasn't exactly a social butterfly. He had come to Shin'ō specifically to learn how to be a competent shinigami and prioritized his studies over less important matters, so he was impressed by Tōshirō's determination and respected his work ethic. However, even he had managed to form social ties to classmates and could enjoy an afternoon off here and there to relax with them. He wondered if Tōshirō would be able to form ties with the sixth years-- if he remembered correctly, the five months left in the school year would be the longest stretch he had been with any particular set of classmates.

Five days after their first meeting, Sōjirō decided to be proactive and deliberately befriend the boy.

x§x§x

Tōshirō thought he had largely grown used to the initial scramble in the first several days after skipping forward a year in the curriculum. Each time he did so was more difficult than the last academically, but he had the rest of the matter down to routine. He was used to getting very little sleep as he pored over library books trying to catch up to his new classes. He was used to the other students in the practical classes balking at his presence and trying to outdo the new kid. He was used to his hands aching from extensive note-taking and fierce zanjutsu spars with classmates who felt they had something to prove. He was used to the multitude of eyes on him at all times, weighing, measuring, judging him. He was used to the furtive whispers and the blatant sneers.

He was decidedly _not_ used to anyone greeting him with casual cheer every time he encountered them. As if he was a welcome addition to their daily life. It threw him.

He noticed that Sōjirō Kusaka was one of the few people who watched him curiously but without any apparent judgment. Each day, he expected the judgment and dismissal to come. Each day, Kusaka defied his expectations and acted... friendly. He had enough insight to know that it wasn't good that the idea of someone outside his family treating him with a casual kindness was foreign to him. He had never really had a friend before. Momo was his foster-sister. He had huddled with her and Granny when it thundered when he was little; had shared a futon with her and helped her wash it when she wet the bed; had shared skinned knees and sticky rice and sweet watermelon as they grew up together in their home. Their relationship was fundamentally different from friendship with an outsider. He had always wanted a friend. When Momo had grown up and left for the Academy, he had felt the lack of friends more keenly-- the neighborhood children had been more openly wary of him without Momo's buffering presence. He had learned to protect his heart by resigning himself to solitude.

But here was someone who broke the pattern Tōshirō had grown accustomed to. He paid attention to the teen as he had not bothered to with any previous classmates. Kusaka was a responsible student. He seemed to take his studies seriously but without strictness and was generally easygoing. He did not seem to have any particularly close friends, but he was on good terms with many of their classmates. He regarded Tōshirō curiously and possibly with some concern. He just seemed like a nice person who didn't have the prejudices the people of Junrinan and his classmates had. Tōshirō began actively assessing the pros and cons of responding to Kusaka in the time between classes, when he was too tired to think about reijutsu theory and zanjutsu forms.

Five days after their first meeting, Tōshirō decided to take a chance and actually respond to the teen.

x§x§x

Five days after their first meeting, they didn't have an opportunity to speak as the day was full of exams. The day allowed for zero socialization among the sixth years. If they weren't taking tests they were cramming during breaks and lunch. They were all rather twitchy by the end of the day. Tōshirō looked particularly harried as he didn't even have a full week of the sixth year curriculum behind him.

The results were posted on Tōshirō's sixth day in sixth year. He joined his classmates milling about the courtyard to see the results boards. Unable to see over everyone's heads, he threaded through the crowd until he could get to the front row. He found his name and scowled unhappily at his score.

“Is it really that bad, Hitsugaya-san?”

Tōshirō blinked and turned to the speaker. Sōjirō Kusaka stood beside him and was looking between the board and Tōshirō with obvious curiosity. When Tōshirō just stared at him with an expression of vague surprise, he continued. “I think nineteenth out of forty-two is pretty impressive for someone who hasn't even had the books for a week yet.” He looked at Tōshirō with an expression of tentative expectation. He intended to start an actual conversation.

Tōshirō's first inclination was to keep quiet, but he remembered his decision to take a chance on the teen. After a long pause, he reluctantly admitted, “It's not the ranking that concerns me. It's--”

The boys were jostled by the crowd of students who had yet to see their scores. Sōjirō glanced around then looked Tōshirō in the eye and inclined his chin toward the far side of the courtyard with a hopeful look, inviting Tōshirō to continue the conversation more privately. Tōshirō hesitated again but nodded and followed Sōjirō through the crowd. He found himself both pleased that he didn't have to risk elbows to the face by shoving his own way through and annoyed that the taller boy was so easily plowing a path for him. They walked a bit beyond their classmates and settled in the shade of an old tree. Sōjirō casually leaned against its trunk. Tōshirō stood awkwardly, not sure what to do with himself.

Sōjirō turned to him and raised his eyebrows. “You were saying?”

Tōshirō pursed his lips. “It's not the ranking that concerns me. It's the scores.”

Sōjirō's face relaxed into something like intrigue. “You don't think they're pretty much the same thing? At least when it comes to measuring performance?”

Tōshirō scowled. “No. The point spread between placements is wide and my overall score is shored up by my practicals. My practicals are decent, I guess. I need more practice. My written test scores are,” he paused to grimace, “disappointing.”

Sōjirō frowned. “You're being really hard on yourself.”

“Hnn.” Tōshirō glanced away sullenly.

“Seriously. I've been barely clinging to ninth place this year and I have all the previous five years of lessons and all of this year's behind me. That you've jumped in and scored so high so soon is really great.”

Tōshirō flushed and shifted uncomfortably. “I still need to do better. I need to learn as quickly as I can.”

“Why?”

This time Tōshirō looked less like a surprised owl and more like a rabbit that had sighted a wolf. He froze and didn't answer. He just stared.

Sōjirō frowned slightly and scratched his head. “I didn't realize that was such a problematic question. Do you just not want to say that you want to be first in the class?”

Tōshirō snapped out of his shock and glared. “No!”

“Because that isn't a goal to be ashamed of or anything. The ambition is actually pretty admira--”

“I told you, I don't care about the rankings!”

“Then why are you so obsessed with your scores and wanting to learn quickly?”

Tōshirō flushed hotly and squawked, “I'm not-- not _obsessed!_ ”

“You're sure acting like it. And I can see why the gossip says you are.”

Tōshirō flinched. “I don't care about gossip!” A half-truth. “And I have a good reason for wanting to-- to-- I _need_ to learn faster!”

Sōjirō's face shifted into concerned confusion. “But why? You make it sound like it's desperately important.”

Tōshirō shut his mouth tightly and pressed his lips into a thin line. He stared hard at the teen and started weighing his options. On one hand, he had decided to take a chance with this guy. On the other, this was a highly personal subject for a first conversation. Then again, he supposed he really could be giving the wrong impression to people who had no context for his behavior. And he did want a friend. But he wasn't sure he wanted to open himself up that much to a stranger. A nice stranger, but a stranger all the same.

Sōjirō met the hard stare head-on. He felt that he was being weighed, measured, judged, and steeled himself accordingly. He could see a muscle jumping in Tōshirō's jaw and could practically hear the gears in the boy's head grinding. The boy didn't seem to notice he was gesturing slightly, as though he was arguing with someone-- with himself. He was the very picture of “conflicted.”

 _There must really be something behind this_ , Sōjirō thought. _Maybe something personal? Or embarrassing?_ Aloud, he quietly said, “I won't tell anyone. Or laugh, or anything. You know.”

Tōshirō started, then shifted hesitantly, stare downgraded from hard to wary.

Sōjirō looked him in the eye and tried to project grave earnestness. “I mean it.”

Tōshirō still felt skeptical. He looked around the courtyard at the milling students, thinking hard. Perhaps he could make an allowance for this person who seemed to actually give a damn about him. He suddenly felt that he needed to confide in someone. He needed to relieve the weight he was carrying. Maybe his classmate could understand. He teetered between recklessness and caution. He settled on sharing a minimally personal description of his reasoning.

Still looking around the courtyard with unfocused eyes, he quietly asked, “Remember how you said I'm powerful and should be proud?”

Sōjirō's face relaxed back into curiosity. He noted how the boy seemed awkward, shy, reluctant. Morose. Tōshirō wouldn't even look him in the eye. His furrowed brow and troubled gaze worried Sōjirō. He wondered what his compliment had to do with anything. “Yes?”

Tōshirō fidgeted, solemnly looked Sōjirō in the eye, and looked away again. Even softer than before, the boy said, “There's no use being proud of power you can't control. I may be powerful, but my lack of control makes me....” He trailed off and decided against saying _dangerous_. He gestured vaguely, trying to find words to fill in the space. “My lack of control is... problematic.” He glanced around surreptitiously and walked behind the tree. Sōjirō followed. Tōshirō lay his small hand on the tree's trunk. He frowned in concentration. Frost bloomed from his fingertips and filled the ridges in the bark like growing vines.

Sōjirō's eyes went round in astonishment and his brows approached his hairline.

Tōshirō frowned harder and tried to stop the ice from forming. He failed. He withdrew his hand and stared at it as he flexed his fingers. Feathery ice continued to coalesce on them for a couple minutes before he managed to rein in his power. He wasn't wholly successful, as the ice stubbornly refused to melt. He flexed his fingers more sharply to break the ice and flicked it away. He looked tired and overwhelmed and melancholy. It was jarring to see that degree of weariness on such a young face. “I'm doing better but I need more control.” He turned serious eyes on Sōjirō. “So I _need_ to learn.” He seemed to withdraw into himself a bit. He dipped his head so his hair partially obscured his eyes and guardedly watched Sōjirō's face for his reaction.

Sōjirō's face was still somewhat blank with surprise. His mind whirled. He couldn't settle on a single reaction. He was impressed and fascinated by what he had glimpsed of Tōshirō's power. On some level, he acknowledged it was intimidating. He blinked and really looked at Tōshirō. His face was downcast, his wary eyes peered out from behind the meager shield of his hair, and his shoulders were tense with defensiveness. He obviously expected some manner of very bad response. Compassion overtook Sōjirō's other reactions.

 _If just seeing it intimidates me then it must be even more intimidating for him since he needs to actually control it_ , he thought. He pulled himself together, earnest and serious. “I understand.” He shifted awkwardly and faltered for a moment before he mustered a determined look. “I'll help you.”

Tōshirō blinked. After a moment, his eyes went wide. “What?”

“I said I'll help you.”

“I heard-- I-- I heard you. But what? What do you--? What?” Tōshirō was flustered and at a loss for words. He had expected... actually, he didn't know exactly what he had expected. Something bad. Not an offer of help.

Sōjirō grinned enthusiastically. “I mean, I still have my notes from my first five years here, and I have my notes for this year, and I could loan them to you to copy or talk about or whatever. And I can show you which books I used in the library, and maybe we can practice together or something--” He stopped himself at the sight of Tōshirō eying him like he was the strangest thing he had ever seen. He scratched his temple bashfully. “I mean. Maybe. If you want.”

Tōshirō kept staring. He was still somewhat dubious. He wondered what motive the teen could have. Sōjirō seemed to mean well, but Tōshirō's prior experience with children pretending to be nice to him in front of Momo and being indifferent at best when she was not present lingered in his mind. Then again, such an offer seemed to be in character for the teen who was generally pleasant and helpful with all of his classmates and teachers. Tōshirō bit his lip. He wished he had someone to talk to about his concerns.

( _A crystalline dragon shifted restlessly and struggled to suppress frustration, impatient to no longer be alone on the icy plain that was his home._ )

Uncertain, Tōshirō looked up at Sōjirō and asked, “Why?”

Sōjirō shrugged, his face open and honest. “I dunno. It seems like the right thing to do.”

Tōshirō raised one skeptical brow. “What would _you_ get out of it?”

“Cynical, much?” Sōjirō laughed. “Well, I wasn't really looking for anything. If you want to look at it that way though, I guess you could say some review would probably be good for me. And I just like helping people. Who knows? Maybe we'll get to be friends.

Tōshirō stared at him again. A tentative smile tugged at his lips. “Who knows?”

x§x§x

That had been late Saturday afternoon. Sōjirō had promised to sort through his old notes that evening. Sunday was the only day they didn't have classes each week, so Sōjirō proposed meeting in the library the next day for Tōshirō's initial review of his notes. They had agreed to meet around ten. Tōshirō immediately planned two hours for simply looking at the notes followed by lunch, then an afternoon of actually copying notes. Sōjirō had been amused by his rapid planning. They parted ways eager for the day to come.

Sōjirō breezed into the library perfectly on time. He found Tōshirō already seated at a long table, reading a large book by the weak autumn sunlight streaming in the windows.

“Good morning, Hitsugaya-san.”

There was the owlish look again. Tōshirō marked his page and shut the book. “Good morning, Kusaka-san.”

Sōjirō grinned tiredly and proudly set a thick sheaf of paper on the table. “Here. These are my lecture notes from the first three years. Fourth year's when things got more complicated so there are a lot more notes from then on. I didn't have time to get through them last night. I figured we may as well start with this.”

Tōshirō reached for the papers with the eagerness of a child being given a present. “Thank you so much, Kusaka-san.”

Sōjirō sat and got comfortable while Tōshirō leafed through the pages. He set his own writing box* and paper on the table across from Tōshirō's. He looked up when the sound of ruffling paper stopped.

Tōshirō was looking at the papers uncertainly. He turned a bewildered stare on Sōjirō.

Sōjirō blinked. “What?”

“These notes... Is this your handwriting?”

“Yeah. Is something wrong?”

Tōshirō turned his perturbed stare back to the papers. “Um. Your writing is....” He rolled his shoulders and searched for a diplomatic word. “Let's go with 'minimally legible.'”

Sōjirō laughed bashfully. “Ah, well, yeah. I guess. I'm sorry. I write more carefully on things I have to turn in. I figured as long as I could read the notes I didn't have to try to make it neat. Maybe I should re-copy them with you to practice.” He offered Tōshirō a sheepish grin.

Tōshirō couldn't help but smirk. “You do know there's a calligraphy class here, right?”

“Ah, I always figured I could work on my handwriting after I graduate. I want to make sure I learn as much as I can here. Improving my handwriting just isn't as important as learning kido theory or whatever, you know?”

Tōshirō smiled rather wryly. “I know exactly what you mean.” He paused to look down at the papers again. “But... I think you're going to need to translate some of this.” His face and voice went deadpan. “Parts of it are like some completely different language.”

Sōjirō pouted. “It's not that bad! I can read it fine.”

“Of course you can read the language of your people.” Tōshirō's lips twitched.

Sōjirō grinned widely. “Oh, you're a cheeky little thing when you actually get to talking.”

A scowl. “I'm not little.”

Sōjirō failed to stop himself from snorting.

Between banter and studying, the day flew by in an enjoyable haze. It was an auspicious beginning.

x§x§x

The boys settled into a pattern in the weeks that followed. They met in the library after classes ended each day. They would do the assigned reading or writing associated with their current classes. Sōjirō would break in to point out things that had been covered before Tōshirō's promotion and give him more context. That done, they would pull out Sōjirō's old notes and review them. At their second library meeting, Sōjirō gave Tōshirō a library book he had found helpful near the beginning of the year. As Tōshirō read that, Sōjirō copied his old notes more neatly. (Tōshirō slyly complimented Sōjirō on graduating to “adequate legibility.”) Every library meeting afterward featured Tōshirō copying the notes Sōjirō had rewritten for him the day before. Tōshirō turned out to be a voracious reader and as quick a study as gossip had made him out to be. He blew through Sōjirō's notes as fast as Sōjirō could copy them. That usually took them to dinnertime.

They began taking meals together. Dinner usually featured more casual discussion on the topics covered in the notes Tōshirō had copied that day. They both came to look forward to these evening discussions. Sōjirō was particularly pleased when Tōshirō asked a question or made an observation that caused him to reconsider something he thought he knew well. Each had a slightly different perspective on any given subject, so bouncing ideas around ended up helping them each gain a more thorough understanding of the topic at hand.

It seemed natural for them to become partners in their practical classes. They complimented each other well. In zanjutsu and hakuda, Sōjirō had strength and Tōshirō had agility. They soon added a spar to their afternoon schedule when it became clear that they were each forcing the other to learn to compensate for their weaknesses. Sōjirō racked his brain for stances and techniques he had learned over the years. Tōshirō had studied most of them to some degree but had rushed through the curriculum so quickly that he didn't get extensive practice time to perfect them. He had not learned any of the techniques from the first part of sixth year. Again, Sōjirō found that teaching Tōshirō helped him improve his own performance.

Throughout this time, they grew to truly be friends. They had similarly wry senses of humor, though Sōjirō was the more playful of the two. They were both exhilarated by each breakthrough they had in their studies. Though Tōshirō still worked very hard, he began to relax and actually enjoy his classes. Sōjirō hadn't consciously noticed just how constantly tense Tōshirō had been until the lines of stress eased from his face. At some point Sōjirō dropped all formality and simply started addressing his friend by his given name. Tōshirō was far more formal in general and continued to address Sōjirō by his family name, though he did drop the formal honorific. Tōshirō remained cautious in their friendship, so Sōjirō found himself leading their non-academic conversations. He told Tōshirō of his time in North Rukongai District 44 and regaled him with stories of his journey from that outlying district to Seireitei. It took some time, but he was able to coax Tōshirō into telling him a bit about Junrinan. He didn't go into much detail, but Sōjirō figured it was better than nothing. Reticence seemed to be Tōshirō's default social posture, so Sōjirō chose to be pleased that the boy would speak to him about personal things at all. He was obviously making an effort to open up to his new friend, but he acted like he was unsure how to do so. Sōjirō decided that things were going well enough that he could be patient.

( _A stalwart blacksmith sat patiently and peacefully gazed at a distant mountain, having faith that he would not always be alone on the forest steppe that was his home._ )

Tōshirō would shut down and become distant when certain topics came up. It usually had something to do with his time before coming to Seireitei-- questions like _what were your friends like?_ or _what did you and your friends do for fun?_ At those times Tōshirō visibly withdrew and gave cryptic non-answers, then was distant and quiet until Sōjirō redirected them onto a different subject.

Sōjirō stumbled upon one such awkward subject during one of their independent spars near winter solstice. They had finished their hakuda spar and were resting before taking up zanjutsu. They sat with their backs against the training room wall, breathing heavily and staring out the bank of windows at the early winter twilight. As had become habit, Sōjirō started talking. Somehow, the topic of why exactly he came to Seireitei came up.

“I mean, District 44 wasn't really _horrible_ , but it was rather poor. I didn't know what it meant back then but I was always hungry. I'm sure you know the feeling.”

Tōshirō hummed in agreement. “Yeah, my sister and I ate a _lot_ of watermelon. We grew them in a little patch behind the house. Granny had a decent income from sewing things for some of the richer people in Junrinan, though, so we didn't go hungry.”

Sōjirō smiled a bit sadly. “Ah, you were lucky. Food could be hard to get in 44th. When I was younger I was all right with eating mostly from this scrawny little overgrown orchard someone had just abandoned. But I got hungrier as I got older. I went into one of the little towns to look for a way to get food. I ended up working for some guy who made dyes to sell to the nicer districts. He gave me rice in exchange for picking all these flowers and stuff. It was easy and interesting, so I was pretty happy.

“One day a Hollow showed up. I had never seen one before and was terrified. It turned out some shinigami had been tracking it, so they caught up before it could do more than rough up a few people. Their fight was pretty short but it was amazing to me. They looked so brave and professional and strong. I wanted to be like them. Before they left one of them told me about how being hungry means you have enough reiatsu to do something with it and told me about the Academy. I saved up a bit of rice and left not long after.” He affected false grandeur and gestured expansively. “And so began my epic journey.”

Tōshirō snorted in amusement.

Sōjirō grinned. “It _was_ epic, relatively speaking. I mean, you had to, what, cross the street and knock on the gate?”

Tōshirō smirked. “Something like that.”

Sōjirō laughed. “So anyway, traveling here took awhile. I saw a few more shinigami on my way. I think they could really do more for the outer districts, but they generally seemed to do their best to protect the people from Hollows. By the time I got to Seireitei I was even more determined to be like that.” Sōjirō turned to Tōshirō and looked determined and hopeful. “So I swear to become a shinigami and put my life at stake for Soul Society!"

Tōshirō's mouth curled into a slight smile. "Oh yeah? I'm gonna...” He trailed off. His pleasant expression faded into distant melancholy. His brow furrowed slightly. Just like that, he shut down.

Sōjirō directed a worried look at his friend. He had no way of knowing that Tōshirō didn't have a goal beyond controlling his power well enough to no longer be a threat to his grandmother. He hadn't particularly wanted to become a shinigami. It had been a means to an end. Tōshirō was suddenly faced with the realization that he didn't know what he wanted for his future. He had come to truly enjoy learning to be a shinigami, though, and he now had a great friend. Perhaps he really should figure out what he wanted to do with his life. Would he be content as an unseated shinigami? He wanted to say _Yes, I'll be happy with anything as long as I can control my power enough to not be a threat to my loved ones_. But in the past several weeks he had found the true thrill in accomplishment, in sharing that accomplishment, in learning just what his power allowed him to do. He began to think that perhaps he did not want to stop advancing, did not want to settle for damage control. Perhaps he wanted to become a truly strong shinigami. Perhaps his dangerous power could be harnessed to actively protect his loved ones. It was an entirely new thought that would have seemed foreign even two months earlier.

( _A glimmering dragon lifted his head, suddenly alert. The endless blizzard calmed slightly for the first time in his world's history. Tōshirō would see the dragon and its icy home in his dreams more clearly that night._ )

“Tōshirō? What's wrong? Was it something I said?”

Tōshirō blinked, jarred out of his rumination. As was his nature, he tucked the thought deep in the back of his mind to pick apart at his leisure. He noticed his friend's concerned frown. “No, I'm fine. Just something I need to think about.”

x§x§x

Their next set of exams loomed before them as the year drew to a close. The sixth years were under a great deal of pressure as the results of this set of exams was known to be used as a catalog of sorts for those Divisions who were looking for specific recruits. This set of exams would be their best means of gaining the right sort of attention. They knew that once they returned from their New Year holiday, competition would escalate as their graduation date grew closer. They would have random visits from various seated officers sent to observe students and classes. Most of the students dissolved into an obsessive studying frenzy, planning to use the New Year holiday to recover from the exams and prepare themselves for the hell that would be their last term. The sixth year students were understandably very tense.

Tōshirō and Sōjirō were more confident than many because of their extensive review, but they were not immune to jitters. Like many of their classmates, they studied every waking moment and even brought books to their meals.

On their last day of preparation, Sōjirō slammed a book shut and called for a stop. “Ugh, that's it. I've read so much I swear my eyes should be bleeding,” he groaned. “If I don't know it now, I won't know it tomorrow. Too bad. Let's go do something else so our eyes don't fall out of our heads before the test.”

Tōshirō scoffed and said he was being melodramatic, but didn't disagree with the sentiment. He tiredly closed his own book and reached up to rub his own bloodshot eyes. They then abandoned the library, stopped by Sōjirō's room so he could collect some candy he had scrounged up, and passed the evening playing an eccentric game of shiritori* that eventually devolved into helpless laughter.

The exams were a grueling two-day nightmare. Results were posted publicly on the afternoon of December 28th. Everyone crowded the courtyard to check their scores before those with places to go left for the holiday. Tōshirō and Sōjirō met up, looked each other in the eye, steeled themselves, and turned to the boards together. They slowly pressed forward through a multitude of exhausted faces and relieved and devastated murmurs. They mirrored each other, eyes going wide at the placements.

Kusaka, Sōjirō: 5th

Hitsugaya, Tōshirō: 2nd

Sōjirō laughed aloud in delight. He turned to Tōshirō and cheekily asked, “So, how's the point spread this time around, Tōshirō?”

Tōshirō faked a scowl and swatted Sōjirō's arm, looking rather flustered.

Sōjirō just grinned. “You jumped up seventeen places in six weeks! Wow, Tōshirō, you really are a genius!"

Modesty and pride warred within Tōshirō. Outwardly, he smiled and scratched his head shyly. "It doesn't matter." What mattered more to him was the improved understanding and control he had over his power. He looked up at his friend. “And you improved, too. Congratulations.”

They wandered away from the courtyard, giddy with success. They meandered across the academy grounds, crunching through frosted grass. They didn't say much. They just basked in the glow of accomplishment and relief from the stress of the past weeks.

They had nearly come full circle when a girl's distant voice yelled, “Shiro-chaaaaaan!”

Sōjirō blinked and cast about for the speaker. Tōshirō froze, eyes wide. “Oh. _Oh_. I forgot.” There was something between dread and panic in his voice.

Sōjirō quirked an eyebrow at his friend. “Forgot what?”

“Ah! Shiro-chan! There you are!” A bubbly teenage girl with warm brown hair veered their way, looking overjoyed.

A teasing smirk danced across Sōjirō's face. “Did you forget to tell me you have a girlfriend, _Shiro-chaaan_?” He glanced at the girl again, noting her black shihakusho. “Ooh, an _older_ girlfriend?”

Tōshirō whipped around to look at Sōjirō in horror. “What?! No! That's my sister!”

Sōjirō burst out in wild laughter just as the girl reached them. She looked at him curiously then asked her brother, “Shiro-chan, what's so funny?”

Tōshirō flushed. “Don't call me Shiro-chan, Bedwetter!”

Sōjirō broke in with a sly grin. “What's funny is Tōshirō was just going to tell me about his glfmrh--”

Tōshirō slapped his hand over Sōjirō's mouth and hissed, “Shut up, you liar!”

The girl blinked. “Your what, Shiro-chan?”

Tōshirō's eyebrow developed a tic. “My _nothing_. Kusaka's making things up. He thinks he's _hilarious_.” He punctuated his statement with a formidable glare at his friend, who just kept grinning.

The girl giggled. “Aren't you going to introduce us, Shiro-chan?”

Tōshirō withdrew his hand and grimaced. His face was long-suffering and sullen when he muttered, “Hinamori, this is my friend, Sōjirō Kusaka. Kusaka, this is my sister, Momo Hinamori.”

The two bowed and exchanged polite greetings. Momo turned to her foster brother. “You're as formal as ever, Shiro-chan,” she quipped.

Her brother glowered at her. “ _Someone_ has to be. And don't call me Shiro-chan!” He saw the gleam in Sōjirō's eye that said the damage was already done and he would be hearing that name from his friend often in the near future. _Dammit._

Momo smiled. Sōjirō thought she seemed the type of person who was full of smiles for all occasions. “Did you get my note?”

Tōshirō looked away sulkily and reluctantly answered that he had.

“Great!” Momo held up a small canvas bag. “I have my things for the holiday. Did you get yours ready?”

He winced. “I completely forgot. I haven't been able to think of much of anything but the end of term exams.”

Sympathy softened her face. “It's all right. I remember cram week.” She perked up. “How did you do?”

Tōshirō floundered awkwardly. “I, uh, um--”

Sōjirō grinned and directed a sly look at his friend, then proudly clapped him on the back. “Our _Shiro-chan_ here jumped up seventeen places to take second in the class, Hinamori-san.”

Tōshirō scowled and snarled, “Don't you start--”

Momo interrupted him with a squeal of delight. She bounced and clapped in excitement. “Shiro-chan! I'm so proud of you!” She caught him in a joyful hug.

Tōshirō blushed hotly. He still had an awkward relationship with praise. Seeking to deflect Momo's attention, he mumbled, “It's because Kusaka helped me. I'd still be behind if he hadn't shared his notes and taught me the other sixth year stuff. And he practiced with me a lot.”

Momo released her brother and turned her joyful admiration on his friend. “Oh! Thank you for taking my brother under your wing, Kusaka-san!” She bowed more deeply than before. “Thank you for taking care of him!”

Sōjirō nodded slightly, then laughed and waved a hand dismissively. “Really, it was nothing. I was glad to help. It was the right thing to do and hey, I got a pretty good friend out of it.” He and Tōshirō looked at each other and grinned.

Momo's smile was bright as summer sunshine. “How did _you_ do on the exams, Kusaka-san? Ah! If you taught Shiro-chan, then you must be the one who got first place! Congratulations!”

Tōshirō cringed slightly. Sōjirō laughed awkwardly. “Ah, well, about that, Hinamori-san... Actually, I came in fifth.”

Momo stared blankly for a moment before her face took on an expression of embarrassed shock. She hovered a hand over her open mouth and cried, “Oh! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have assumed!”

Sōjirō waved his hands. “Really, it's fine--”

“I just thought-- Oh, I'm so silly! Fifth is really good, too! Especially in the Special Advanced Class! When I was in it, the top six were so close we were constantly shuffling places. So I'm sure-- I'm _sure_ it was very close, right? I mean--”

Tōshirō nudged her and said in an undertone, “Hinamori, you're digging yourself deeper.”

Momo's face fell in dismay. “I'm so sorry!”

Sōjirō gave her a wan smile. “It's okay, really. I did improve and I am happy with my scores.”

Momo sagged in relief. “I'm so glad! And I really am sorry. That was really awkward. I-- ah!” She squeaked as Tōshirō pinched her. She scolded him with a scandalized “Shiro-chan!”

“You're doing that thing where you just keep rambling when it's best to change the subject,” he drawled.

Momo's blush deepened. “O-oh.” Her voice was tiny. “Um... um... S-so, Shiro-chan, you need to get your things. And I thought we'd stop by the market district before we leave Seireitei. I saved up some of my pay. I thought we could treat Granny to something nice for our osechi* this year. The sticky rice for the ozoni* will be cheaper in Junrinan, so we can get that there.”

Tōshirō scratched his temple absentmindedly. “That sounds like a good plan. Maybe you should go to the market now. It's getting late and I might not pack fast enough. I'll catch up to you at the gate.”

Momo's smile returned, still a bit subdued. “That's a good idea Shiro-chan. I'll see you there.” She turned to Sōjirō and bowed again. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Kusaka-san. I'm sorry about the, um, misunderstanding. Happy New Year!”

Sōjirō bowed. “The pleasure was all mine, Hinamori-san. And Happy New Year to you, as well.”

The boys watched her hurry away. Sōjirō spoke up, curious. “So, you're going home for the New Year?”

Tōshirō froze for a moment and winced. “Ah. I forgot to tell you. Yeah, we're going to go visit Granny and do all the traditional cleaning and cooking stuff since we haven't been home in so long.” He looked at Sōjirō with eyes full of regret. “I'm sorry I didn't say anything.”

Sōjirō smiled somewhat lopsidedly. “It's fine. We were both pretty busy. I'm glad you have family to celebrate with. Have fun, okay?” He is too polite to say _I wish I could go with you._

_(A brawny blacksmith lifted his head, suddenly concerned. He reached out and caught the first flake of snow that had ever appeared in his world. Sōjirō would see neither smith nor newly-chilled world in his dreams that night.)_

Tōshirō looked at him with a mixture of emotions on his face. There was guilt there. Oddly, vulnerability. An expression of wanting to say something-- he even opened his mouth to speak-- but he couldn't get the words out. He faltered, uncertain, and pursed his lips unhappily.

Sōjirō knew the signs of a Tōshirō Hitsugaya Internal Debate when he saw them. He wondered what the boy had considered and second-guessed saying. He had no way of knowing that Tōshirō had been considering the appropriateness of inviting Sōjirō to join him for the holiday. When it came down to it, Tōshirō was still socially awkward and shy, plus he didn't want to impose upon his grandmother unannounced. He didn't want to leave his friend, but he had cherished the times his family could be together on their own for a holiday since Momo had left. He was torn.

Tōshirō's voice was worried and quiet when he asked, “Are you sure? I mean, will you be okay...?”

Sōjirō smirked arrogantly. “I'm a big boy. I can handle ten days without you.” He shifted to a reassuring smile. “Don't know about eleven, though. Have fun. Tell me all about it when you get back, okay?”

Tōshirō looked uncertain, but his face settled into a quiet smile. “Yeah. I will.”

x§x§x

The dormitories and courtyards of Shin'ō Academy hosted a flurry of activity that evening. Students parted ways for the holiday, wandered around socializing, or retired to their rooms to sleep off the exhaustion from surviving the week. The classrooms sat empty. Faculty gradually trickled out of the administrative halls, eager to start their own holidays.

Gengorō Ōnabara strode purposefully down one of said administrative halls, a large stack of file folders in his arms. He approached a particular door and juggled the files into one arm to knock. A pleasant male voice called out, “Come in!”

Ōnabara slid the door open and entered. A slight smile crossed his usually stoic face.“Good afternoon, Captain Aizen. Getting ready for the holiday?”

Sōsuke Aizen put down his brush and set aside the paper he had been writing on. He smiled warmly and adjusted his glasses. Their lenses reflected the soft orange twilight that was beginning to fade from the office window. “Ah, good afternoon, Ōnabara-sensei. Yes. I'm reviewing the progress of my students and drawing up lesson plans for the final term.”

Ōnabara chuckled. “Ever the hard-working planner. Most of the instructors have already fled.”

Aizen smiled mischievously. “Ah, but if I finish my lesson plans now I don't have to worry about them over the holidays. I'll be able to relax more.”

Ōnabara laughed outright. “Very true. I wish Tanizaki-sensei would take a page out of your book. She never seems to learn. Kurosawa-sensei will probably drag her in the day before classes resume and browbeat her into acting responsible.”

“She _is_ dependable when it comes down to being erratically entertaining, though.” Aizen's grin was downright impish.

“Also very true, haha!” Ōnabara held up the folders. “I brought the promising sixth year student dossiers, as usual.”

“So I see. They should make for some interesting reading over the holiday.” Aizen gestured for Ōnabara to set the stack on his desk.

Ōnabara set them down and smirked. “If I didn't know better I'd say you juggle your duties in Fifth and your calligraphy classes here just to have first dibs on the student records.”

“Of course not. I simply feel calligraphy is an under-appreciated art that the students would do well to study. To broaden their horizons, as it were.” Aizen winked conspiratorially. His face then turned curious. “Any students of note this year?”

“Yes, actually. The top eleven or so in the Special Advanced Class are quite good. First is a very well-rounded and consistent student who would probably do well in your Division. But I think you will find the second place and fifth place students most interesting.” Ōnabara took the top two folders from the top of the stack, turned them, and casually tossed them in front of Aizen.

Aizen raised one eyebrow and reached for the folders. “Oh? Second and fifth? Not first?” He set the two folders next to each other and opened them to their first pages: a performance summary and photo. “Tōshirō Hitsugaya and Sōjirō Kusaka. Ah, Hitsugaya is the storied prodigy who has devoured the entire curriculum in one school year. He _is_ quite interesting. Hmm. I haven't heard anything about this Kusaka boy, though.”

Ōnabara leaned back and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I thought that might be the case. Kusaka is a pleasant enough boy and doesn't make any waves. He has been a consistently good student. He is a hard worker. He had held steady at ninth in his class from late in fourth year through the last progress exams two months ago. The students who had been placing above him didn't do any worse than before. The score jump is all on him.”

Aizen's other brow joined the first. Impressed, he asked, “He jumped four places in two months?”

Ōnabara smirked. “Technically, five places. Hitsugaya knocked everyone after first place down a peg. Had Kusaka's scores held steady, he would have been bumped down to tenth.”

Aizen tilted his head to one side and looked fascinated. “Yet, he is fifth. What happened?”

Ōnabara's smirk widened. “Hitsugaya transferred into the class.”

“You are teasing me, old friend.” Aizen looked up at him with mild reproach. “How did that raise his scores? As you said, it seems Hitsugaya's presence should have lowered his placement.”

“When Hitsugaya transferred in, Kusaka befriended him. Their lead instructor reports that after the last progress tests-- ah, they happened only a few days after Hitsugaya moved to sixth year so he wasn't prepared for them and didn't place as high as usual-- Anyway, it seems Kusaka took the initiative and used his notes to bring the kid up to speed. As far as the instructor could tell, they both ended up doing an intensive review of the entire six-year curriculum. Kusaka ended up benefiting from that. They seem enthusiastic about learning. They work very well together. Even in practical classes-- their fighting strengths and weaknesses compliment each other. I would advise that you try to snap up the pair of them like you got Hinamori, Kira, and Abarai awhile back. They will progress best as a team. The two of them drive each other to success. Their potential for growth is quite promising. They would likely become competent officers within a decade or two. They both have strong reiatsu, too. Hitsugaya more so than Kusaka, but Kusaka's is nothing to sneeze at. You could say they're quite the packaged deal.”

Aizen slowly set his elbows on the desk, laced his fingers together, and rested his chin on them. He looked down at the photos, intrigued. “You were right. I am _very_ interested in them.”

Ōnabara laughed and headed for the door. “I thought so. Happy reading and plotting, Captain. And Happy New Year.”

Aizen chuckled lightly. “Yes, Happy New Year.”

The door clicked shut. Aizen stared down at the photos with heavy-lidded eyes. He quietly murmured, “Now, what am I to do with you?”

x§x§x

x§x§x

x§x§x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *innocent whistling*
> 
> Let me know what you think. Con/crit welcome.
> 
>  
> 
> FOOTNOTES  
> writing box: Soul society seems rather old-timey so I have them using brushes and ink. People would keep all the supplies-- ink stone, water dripper, brushes, etc.-- in a special box.
> 
> shiritori: a Japanese word game in which the players are required to say a word which begins with the final kana of the previous word.
> 
> osechi: Food people prepare in advance to eat in the first days of the New Year, when stores are closed and it's tradition to not cook.
> 
> ozoni: a soup made with mochi
> 
> Also, it is canon that Aizen taught a calligraphy class at the Academy. Look at the trivia section of his page on the Bleach wiki for the citation.
> 
>  
> 
> version one: 8/28/14


	2. Sea-Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you don't know much about Japanese New Year traditions, you might want to look it up first. It'll be easier than making/checking footnotes.
> 
> Relevant to the story and fairly brief:  
> h*t*t*p*:*/*/*j*a*n*m*s*t*o*r*e*.*c*o*m*/*o*s*h*o*g*a*t*s*u*.*h*t*m*l  
> h*t*t*p*:*/*/*w*w*w*.*j*a*p*a*n*-*g*u*i*d*e*.*c*o*m*/*e*/*e*2*0*6*4*.*h*t*m*l  
> h*t*t*p*:*/*/*e*n*.*w*i*k*i*p*e*d*i*a*.*o*r*g*/*w*i*k*i*/*H*a*t*s*u*y*u*m*e
> 
> Also, iroha-garuta is a card game and sugoroku is a board game. Look them up if you're curious.

x§x§x

x§x§x

x§x§x

“Sometimes the slightest things change the directions of our lives, the merest breath of a circumstance, a random moment that connects like a meteorite striking the earth. Lives have swiveled and changed direction on the strength of a chance remark.”

― Bryce Courtenay

x§x§x **CHAPTER TWO: SEA-CHANGE** x§x§x

Tōshirō woke in stages. He blearily stared at the wall opposite him and thought it was wrong somehow. It took a few minutes for him to wake up enough to process that it wasn't the whitewashed wall of his tiny room in the dormitory. He slowly realized that it was the wall of his childhood home. When that sank in, his eyes flew wide and he sat up quickly. He looked around him in a panic. He had had difficulty falling asleep, worried that his newly acquired and imperfect control of his reiatsu would be insufficient and he would hurt Granny again. He searched around him for ice, heart in his throat. All he found was some light frost on his own futon. He blew out the breath he had been holding and flopped back on the futon, relief sapping him of his energy. He laid and stared lazily at the ceiling, absently noting that he had begun to find the cold somewhat comfortable. He began to doze off again.

His sister's face suddenly appeared before him, upside-down and way too awake and cheerful for so early in the morning. “Shiro-chan, it's almost lunch time. You need to get up.”

Tōshirō groaned rather petulantly but rubbed his eyes and pulled himself up. He dragged himself through his morning routine. He was still drowsy but more coherent when he sat down to lunch with his family.

“Good morning, Granny.” He stifled a yawn and blinked at the old woman.

Granny smiled, her face crinkling with laugh lines. “Good afternoon, Tōshirō-chan.” Her eyes shone with amusement. “My, my, all that hard work at the Academy must have worn you out. Momo-chan tells me you are doing very well at your studies. Second in your class! I'm very proud of you.”

Tōshirō's face went pink. His heart soared at her praise. He fidgeted bashfully. “Thank you, Granny.”

The old woman turned to her granddaughter. “Momo-chan, how are you doing in your Division?”

Momo paused mid-bite of onigiri, surprised. She swallowed. “Oh, I love it!” she gushed. “Everyone is very nice. Captain Aizen won't stand for people being mean to new recruits so we have a pretty easy time of it to start with. He makes sure the seated officers teach us how to do different things so we can work together better and find out what we're good at. I'm learning a lot! Right now I'm assigned to help Tenth Seat Adai sort the mission reports and requisitions so they go to the right people. We also write down who's turned in what so we can ask people who are late to turn in their reports. Renji-kun thinks it's kind of boring but I think it's fun. It's like a little puzzle.”

Granny beamed and looked a bit misty-eyed. “I'm so glad you're happy. And I'm proud of you, too. Ah, both of my grandchildren have grown to be such wonderful, hard-working people. You bring this old woman so much joy.”

Said grandchildren blushed and looked both flustered and quite pleased with themselves.

The old woman sat back and finished her tea. “You two will have to tell me more over dinner. Right now we need to get started on the osoji while we have daylight.”

Tōshirō nodded and casually munched on his last onigiri. Momo raised both hands in a cheer. “We're going to have the cleanest house in Junrinan!”

“My, my, so energetic!” Granny laughed.

They split up into various household cleaning tasks. Tōshirō noticed that while his grandmother had visibly recovered in his absence, she was still frailer than she had been before Momo left for Seireitei. He hadn't known it was possible to feel happy and heartbroken at the same time. He threw himself into his tasks, intending to do more work so his grandmother would have less to do herself. He aimed to do as much as he could in the time it took Granny to carefully take apart and sort her sewing supplies, clean their storage area, and neatly reorganize them. As usual, Tōshirō was surprised by just how much dust and grime could accumulate in a house with so few occupants.

When the daylight began to dim, Granny cooked dinner while Tōshirō and Momo finished what they could before dark. They finally sat down to an early dinner, tired and happy.

“Now, Tōshirō-chan, tell me about the Academy. Momo-chan said you will graduate from sixth year soon. How is that possible?”

Tōshirō shifted awkwardly. “Well, uh, I wanted to learn as much as I could so I just started reading ahead and watching some of the older students do practicals. Then one of my teachers caught me being bored in class and tried to embarrass me by asking a question from a chapter he hadn't assigned yet but I answered correctly. The teachers must talk together because they all started watching me after that. Then they started testing me and pushing me harder in practicals. Then one day Ōnabara-sensei called me to his office and had me do the standard first year final exam. Then they put me in second year. It just kept going like that.” He shuffled in place and looked down guiltily. “I'm sorry I didn't come home for summer break. I was finishing up fourth year work on my own so I could start with the fifth years when the fall term started.”

Granny smiled softly at him. “Don't worry, Tōshirō-chan. I understand.”

Momo stared wide-eyed. “Wow, Shiro-chan, I knew you had to have been going fast but that's amazing! You must be as smart as Lieutenant Ichimaru.”

He blinked as he took another bite of ramen. “Oh. I think Ōnabara-sensei mentioned him a couple times. He went through the Academy fast, too, right? And also... something Shiba?” He screwed up his face and stared at the ceiling for a moment in an attempt to remember. He grimaced and gave up. “Ugh, I'm tired and there are too many Shibas.”

Momo giggled. “I think you mean Kaien Shiba. He's Lieutenant of Thirteenth. I heard he graduated from the Academy after only two years.”

He nodded absently. “Yeah, that's the guy.”

Granny raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Tōshirō-chan, people have been comparing you to lieutenants?”

Tōshirō paused and stared at her for a moment before picking up more noodles. “Um... yes?” He chewed and eyed his grandmother strangely. She didn't exactly sound thrilled. He wondered where she was going with this.

Granny looked at him seriously. Her concerned eyes searched his face. Quietly, she asked, “Tōshirō-chan, are they pressing you to move faster than you want to? It seems like they have very high expectations of you. Are you under too much pressure?”

Tōshirō's eyes went wide. He stared at her, taken aback. Momo joined Granny in looking concerned.

“I hadn't thought of it that way. Shiro-chan, do--”

“No!” he snapped defensively.

The siblings stared at each other for a moment. Tōshirō looked away first, embarrassed. He continued rather sulkily. “No, they're not pressuring me... Well, I guess they are, but I don't really notice it too much. I want to learn as much as I can as fast as I can. If they have some kind of expectations for me then they just have the same end goal as I do. So it doesn't matter.”

Granny searched his eyes keenly. “And what is that end goal?”

After a long moment, he replied with a quiet earnestness. “To fully control my reiatsu as soon as I can.”

Granny stared at him searchingly for several moments.

Momo frowned. “Shiro-chan, there's no hurry. A lot of unseated shinigami don't have total control of their reiatsu. I still don't. I just learned Tobiume's name a couple months ago. I'm still learning.”

Tōshirō scowled stubbornly. “Well, I want to learn it faster.”

Momo pouted. “But why?”

Granny interrupted them with a quiet, “I understand.” Both siblings whirled to stare at her, startled.

Tōshirō got the impression that his grandmother actually did understand his motive. Now that he could look back without the filter of immediate panic, he thought he was silly to believe his grandmother didn't know that he had been conjuring ice in his sleep. She had woken up for the day before him. He never found ice or dampness when he woke later in the morning. Granny had to have known-- must have cleaned it up. For how long? Why hadn't she said anything?

Granny must have read something in his face. She smiled a bit sadly. “I had hoped you could have a longer childhood. But your power is growing and you are growing with it.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Tōshirō-chan, don't let your power swallow you up. It's perfectly fine that you want to control it but don't let that desire crowd out everything else in your life. If you center everything you do around controlling your power, if that's your only goal, what will you do when you achieve it? And what else will you have left besides your power?” He gaped at her in shock. She smiled again and patted his hand. “Something for you to think about.”

Granny continued calmly eating as though their conversation hadn't just veered off into existential crisis prevention. Momo looked a bit lost. Tōshirō just sat dumbfounded for several minutes.

It had been several weeks since his conversation with Sōjirō that had prompted him to consider more long-term goals. He had become distracted by exam preparation, but now the topic was dragged to the forefront again. The uncertainty made his mind whirl. It didn't help that he was already tired. What did he want to do? What would make him happy? What--?

“Tōshirō-chan, you don't have to think about it right this second.” Granny smiled warmly at him when he snapped back to reality. “Take your time.”

Tōshirō blushed and settled down to eat again. Conversation stalled as they ate and quietly enjoyed each other's company.

x§x§x

The next day, Tōshirō and Momo woke before their grandmother and fumbled their way through cooking a simple breakfast. When Granny sat to eat she beamed as proudly as if they had presented her with a sumptuous feast. They plotted their day over the meal.

Tōshirō frowned doubtfully. “I think we should just air out and beat the futons. If we actually wash them they'll never dry in time for us to sleep on them tonight. They'll freeze solid.”

Momo smiled smugly. “No, they won't. Captain Aizen has someone from the Kidō Corps come and run a little tutoring class on kidō once a week since we can't master everything in the Academy. I learned a really neat trick you can do with Shakkahō. If you limit how much reiatsu you use you can hold it in your hand and use it as a light or a warmer. So I can dry the futons myself! Maybe I can teach you, too!”

He hummed in thought. “I don't think that would be wise. I still have trouble with overpowering my kidō. I don't want to incinerate the futons.”

“Awww. Well, then, you can watch me do it and I'll tell you about it and you can practice on the kidō range when you go back to the Academy. Okay?”

Tōshirō smiled slightly. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

They spent the morning systematically beating each of the futons, warming water, and washing them. It was tedious work. Momo proudly played teacher and lectured Tōshirō about how she manipulated the usually-destructive kidō to dry them. Tōshirō was fascinated and vowed to tell Sōjirō about it and practice it.

After lunch, Momo ran off to the market to get supplies for the various New Year foods they would make. Tōshirō spent his afternoon checking on the house's weatherproofing. He filled a couple cracks in the window sills and used shunpō to climb on the roof to find and fix some gaps in the thatch. He cleaned the track of the front door and made sure it closed snugly. All the manual labor gave him time to think.

He carefully considered his grandmother's words the night before. Had he let his desire to control his reiatsu consume him? He looked back at the past year more objectively and decided that yes, actually, he had. From the moment he learned of his power and its implications, he let the desire to control it control him in turn. He hurried to enroll in Shin'ō Academy before he could even speak to his grandmother about it. Once enrolled, he spent every waking moment studying, researching, practicing. He largely ignored his classmates, creating an inversion of the solitude he had endured in Junrinan. Instead of connecting with the other students who could have been in the same boat as him, he surrounded himself with books and scrolls, holed up in the library or practice rooms or his own little room in the dormitory. There had been absolutely nothing anywhere near as important as learning to control his reiatsu. There were times he only ate because meals were built into the school's schedule. He had locked himself in a cell of his own making. Sōjirō had been right to call it obsession.

He pondered the idea of goals. He thought of Granny's indirect warning that he could lose everything-- let his relationships wither and die in neglect-- if he focused only on his power. He felt fresh guilt for not visiting his grandmother over summer break. Instead, he had indulged-- no, drowned in-- his obsession. But he also still felt he had protected her by staying away. He frowned and picked that apart some more. It occurred to him that while he had rationalized the avoidance as protection-- and perhaps rightly so, in part-- that was a euphemism that tiptoed around the core fact that he had been afraid. Terrified. Afraid of his power, afraid for his grandmother, afraid of himself in general. Even if he set aside the anxiety over directly being near his grandmother and harming her with his very presence, most of his actions had been dictated by fear. Even after he had begun to understand what his reiatsu was and how it worked, it frightened him. The more he came to realize just how much reiatsu he had, the more the thought of actually controlling it intimidated him. He had been trying to claw his way to a point where his power no longer scared him. His motivation boiled down to fear. He had attacked the curriculum not out of ambition or any positive goal but desperation to not be-- not be--

He swallowed hard. His lips trembled; he made them form a tight line and forced himself to complete the thought: To not be the the cold curse the people of Junrinan had seen him as. To not be something that made all their behavior toward him legitimate. To not be someone who could only be accepted by people to whom he would be a danger. To not be someone who truly deserved to be alone.

Yet he had immediately created more loneliness for himself. In retrospect, it was absurd. He had become so obsessed with gathering knowledge to arm himself against his fear and shame that he had instead hobbled himself. Rather than searching out ways to actively use his power for some concrete goal, he had sought ways to minimize and contain it. In a way, to deny it. In his mind, having power had become synonymous with being shunned. He hadn't wanted it, hadn't wanted to be a shinigami. He had learned that his dreams of the magnificent ice dragon were most likely his zanpakutō spirit reaching out to him. The sheer enormity of the dragon that represented his power made him doubt he could ever master something so big and fierce. So he ran from it, toed the line of utterly rejecting it, ended up desperately stifling it. With his attitude toward his power, it was now no wonder that his dreams had been filled with a building frustration and yearning and lacked the voice he had heard before the lieutenant of the Tenth Division had found him.

At least, until he had befriended Sōjirō. Or rather, until _Sōjirō_ befriended _him_. His friend's enthusiasm for the ideal of shinigami as protectors had gradually chipped away at his fear. He had slowly begun to see his power as a tool that opened up opportunities for him instead of as a shameful thing to be suppressed and hidden. He had started to share Sōjirō's wonder at what his power could allow him to do-- things he had never thought possible for him. He had yet to truly master his fear, but he liked to think he had made good progress. The biggest uncertainty adding to the fear was that while he knew what he did _not_ want to do with his power, he was adrift with no idea what exactly he wanted to do with his power once he could use it properly.

Tōshirō had seen plenty of shinigami pass by in his lifetime, since Junrinan served as Seireitei's gate to the rest of West Rukongai. He had never really thought about them and what they did. They were like part of the scenery. He had even glossed over the lauded heroes in his history classes as dry facts. Then Sōjirō came along and started telling him random stories about the shinigami he met on his journey to Seireitei. The little things struck him: The patrolling shinigami who had saved the little town in North 44th from a hungry Hollow; the shinigami in North 38th who had flared his reiatsu to scare off some highway robbers who had targeted Sōjirō; the shinigami in North 29th who had given him an onigiri from his ration pack when he saw how exhausted and hungry Sōjirō was; the shinigami he encountered at an inn in North 13th who passed the time sheltering from a major storm by telling Sōjirō what he could expect at the Academy. Then he thought of the only shinigami he had interacted with himself before he went to Seireitei: the lieutenant of Tenth Division, who had taken offense on his behalf and chastised the rude shopkeeper, then followed up to warn him when she really didn't have to. It seemed a fair amount of shinigami were generally decent people who found ways to protect and help people who had less power than them. He knew there were exceptions-- even Sōjirō with his largely idealistic views had told him of a couple instances of meeting callous shinigami-- but he wondered if it might be a good goal to aim to be one of those decent, helpful shinigami. That goal seemed to make Sōjirō happy. He hadn't really thought of it consciously, but he had been caught in the wake of Sōjirō's optimism. Perhaps he should consciously swim with its flow. Fighting the tide of his power for fear of drowning had only exhausted him.

He was still tentative, though. He decided to let his introspection stew for a bit. He didn't want to rush into a decision as he had when that lieutenant had warned him of his power. Running hard in the other direction could work out just as badly.

Finished with his work, Tōshirō sat on the peak of the roof and stared out into the clear winter sky, thinking, thinking, thinking.

x§x§x

That evening and the entire next day had passed in a whirlwind of cooking. Granny assigned them each certain tasks for completing the multiple dishes to be packed for the osechi-ryōri they would eat in the first days of the New Year. When darkness fell they set everything neatly aside and ate a light dinner. They spent the evening relaxing and enjoying each other's company over tea and snacks. The siblings told stories about the past year in Seireitei. Momo enthusiastically gushed about the misadventures of her trio of friends in Fifth Division and waxed poetic about how wonderful her captain was. Tōshirō spoke of Sōjirō shyly and sparingly at first but was soon coaxed into telling them about what they had done. He ended up relaying some of Sōjirō's stories from his journey. Momo was fascinated and recounted some of the things Renji had told her about his and Rukia's trip from Inuzuri. Tōshirō mentioned the ridiculous game of shiritori he and Sōjirō had played the night before their exams. The family then spontaneously played the game themselves. The evening was full of laughter. When the hour was quite late, the family ate toshi-koshi soba together. They finished as midnight approached.

Momo cheerfully asked, “Shiro-chan, think we can stay up for the first sunrise?”

Tōshirō assumed a haughty air. “Of course we can. We've survived exams for the advanced classes at Shin'ō. All-nighters are nothing.”

Momo laughed brightly. “It's true, it's true!”

Thus began the quest to distract themselves into staying awake. They raided their old toy box. Momo dug out her old iroha-garuta set. Granny officiated a couple rounds before excusing herself for the night. She had chuckled softly as she announced that she simply didn't have the energy they did anymore and asked them to wake her so they could watch the dawn together. It was more difficult to find ways to stay awake while being quiet. At some point Tōshirō utterly demolished Momo at spinning tops. They ended up huddled in a corner playing multiple games of sugoroku and whispering to each other. Tōshirō couldn't remember the last time he had been so relaxed and happy.

They woke Granny when the sky outside began to lighten. She brewed a large pot of tea. Soon the little family was standing outside with some other families. They looked to the east, huddling together and warding off the predawn chill with steaming hot tea. Daybreak was lovely. The winter sky had been awash in violets and roses and the palest of yellows. The frost on all the plants and houses glittered like tiny jewels.

Tōshirō felt deeply peaceful. Everything just seemed brighter and more hopeful in the newborn sunshine. He looked at his grandmother and sister, looked at their happy smiles in the face of such a promising new year and thought, _This. I want to protect this. This is what I can fight for-- what I_ will _fight for. I won't let fear hold me back anymore. I will move forward. I will learn to use my power not because I fear it but because I want to use it properly to protect them. To protect people_ like _them. I've wondered so many times why I had to bear the curse of so much power. This is the reason. I should have seen that power as a blessing. It will help me be strong enough to protect them._

Granny turned to look at her grandson. He was looking at her and Momo, eyes distant but face openly affectionate and determined. She smiled. Perhaps she wouldn't have to worry about him quite as much after all.

As soon as the sun was fully up, Tōshirō and Momo yawned simultaneously. Granny chuckled and ushered them indoors. They barely managed to get themselves changed and to the right part of the house before they practically fell into bed. Happily exhausted, they slept the morning away.

Tōshirō dreamed.

x§x§x

The dream began as it often did: A crescent moon glowed brightly high above a frozen plain, a vast open area enclosed by nothing save open sky. There was more snow on the ground and the few bare, dormant trees than there had been months before. Sleet still blew through the air, but it was not as thick and turbulent as it had once been. His breath condensed into small clouds before him, the air so cold it almost hurt to breathe. Once again he felt the sudden sense of something powerful approaching, as though raw power was rushing down from the moon above. The power struck the plain before him like the brightest of blue-white lightning. The blast kicked up ice and snow. The lightning bolt's flash revealed an enormous dragon made entirely out of ice. Tōshirō's breath caught in his throat. It was beautiful and terrible. Long streams of pale blue light poured off the dragon's body and flowed in all directions, carrying snow in the rivers of power. Tōshirō braced himself against the waves of reiatsu. His heart hammered and he knew he was still afraid. The icy avatar of his power dwarfed him. He took deep, gasping breaths and forced the fear back with great effort.

_BOY!_

The dragon's booming voice sounded muffled, as though he was shouting from a great distance. It was the first time in quite awhile that Tōshirō heard the dragon speak.

_MY NAME IS--!_

The howling wind swallowed the dragon's words. He wondered if the dragon had not spoken in the past months or if he had simply refused to hear him. Something told him it was the latter. He felt sick. Had he been smothering his power-- this majestic dragon-- that harshly?

_HEAR ME!_ The voice took on a tone of frustrated desperation.

Tōshirō screwed up his courage and answered for the first time in months. “I'm trying!”

The great dragon shifted, flared his wings, and settled back on his serpentine coils. Somehow, Tōshirō got a sense of surprise and cautious hope. _YOU ARE W-- TO LISTEN? FINA-- HEED MY CALL?_

Tōshirō's face fell in dismay. “I'm trying, I swear! But I'm having trouble hearing you!”

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the gale. Finally the dragon tilted his head to one side. Glowing red eyes regarded him searchingly. _\--FEAR ME. WHY?_

Tōshirō's breath hitched. The strong voice held a deep undercurrent of sadness. He thought he would choke on the ambient sense of loneliness that filled his inner world. It was as if the loneliness he had felt in the waking world-- in Junrinan, at Shin'ō-- had been concentrated and turned within. He realized anew just how badly his obsession had reinforced his loneliness. He had even ostracized a portion of his own soul.

A tear streaked down his cheek. “I'm so sorry!” He gasped for air and tried not to cry. “You're just-- you're just so-- so huge and strong, and-- and--” He wilted. “I'm just a kid. How am I supposed to control so much power? When I can't control it I hurt people. I don't want that. I'm so afraid of that. The books all say that connecting with your zanpakutō makes you get even stronger. If I can barely control my power now, how can I keep from hurting people if I accept all of your power, too? But--! I know-- I mean--” He floundered, fighting shame. “I know now that pushing you away isn't going to solve anything. I'm not protecting anyone, I'm running away.” He swallowed hard then shouted, “I don't want to be afraid anymore!” Somehow, he no longer minded if the dragon saw him cry.

The dragon was silent for awhile. He slowly bowed his head. His voice was gentle but firm when he finally said, _YOU HAVE NOTHI-- FEAR FR-- ME. –NOT FEAR MY POWER. RESPECT--. – --OWER IS ONLY WILD BECA-- --U REJEC--. ACCEPT M-- --ND I WILL EVER-- BY YOUR SIDE. --WILL PROTEC-- WHAT Y-- --ECT. LET US FLY TOGETH--_

Tōshirō wiped his face with his arm and looked up at the dragon, his expression determined. “I want that! I do! So I'm trying! I promise to try harder! I want to use your power to protect people!” He drew a ragged breath, fighting against the weight of the loneliness that he had caused. “I won't leave you alone in here anymore!”

The dragon raised himself again. He settled back on his coils. Tōshirō picked up on a sense of satisfied relief. _GOOD. I AM PROUD-- OVERCOME– FEAR. I –DERSTAND IT WILL-- TIME. FIND-- OWN STRENGTH AN-- LEND YOU MINE._ He beat his wings for emphasis. _\--LOOK FORWAR-- THE DAY YOU-- MY NAME._

The wind picked up again. Tōshirō felt a great rushing, a sense of floating along in a river. The dragon reared up and shattered. The glittering shards spiraled up to the crescent moon from whence it came, carried by streamers of icy blue reiatsu. Then the current carried him off into peaceful, dreamless sleep.

x§x§x

x§x§x

x§x§x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Kusaka needs a hug and I gleefully exploit more crossover characters instead of coming up with OCs. Because I can. :D
> 
> Let me know what you think. Con/crit welcome.


	3. Pandora's Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: S'up. Had some trouble wrangling this to the point I wanted so it took awhile, but hopefully a long update will appease you. XD Crossover characters in speaking roles may or may not be in character. They are just convenient place-fillers so I can focus on main characters instead of making OCs. If you know canon dynamics among characters consider it a bonus for you.
> 
> Buta no shippo (“pig's tail”) is a group card game. It reminds me of California speed, but more spread out.

x§x§x

x§x§x

x§x§x

“A knife wound heals, but a tongue wound festers.”

― Ella Leya, _The Orphan Sky_

x§x§x **CHAPTER THREE: PANDORA'S BOX** x§x§x

Sōjirō's first meal after his friend left for the holiday was decidedly strange. A number of students who came from Rukongai and had no homes stayed over the holidays, so the cafeteria was by no means empty. But the seat across from him _was_. It felt like a lifetime had passed since he ate dinner without thoughtful discussion or snarky banter with Tōshirō. He had known that he would end up missing his friend but he hadn't counted on feeling lonely so soon after his departure. Tired from exams and feeling a bit sorry for himself, he went to bed soon after dinner.

Breakfast was just as strange. He didn't fancy eating alone again, so he cast about for people he knew. He approached a group he used to sit with on occasion-- several sixth years from a mix of the advanced and regular classes.

“Good morning, everyone. It's been awhile. Mind if I sit with you?”

Several heads turned toward him with varying levels of interest. One girl remained slumped on the table, apparently boneless with exhaustion.

“Ha! Look who the cat dragged in!” a girl with boyishly-cropped dark hair crowed mockingly.

A girl with shoulder-length brown hair smiled warmly. “Kusaka-san! It _has_ been awhile!” She patted the table. “Sit, sit!”

Sōjirō smiled back. “Hello, Sakura-san, Sena-san.” He set down his tray and sat across from the girls, next to a sleepy young man with artfully messy brown hair. “Good morning, Asaba-san.”

The guy reacted slowly, blinking as he focused through his tiredness. Then he smiled winningly. “Oh! Kusaka-kun! Good to see you! Ah, and here I thought I had all the beautiful ladies to myself.”

The two conscious girls rolled their eyes in unison.

Sōjirō looked at the unmoving girl sprawled over the table. “Is Sawada-san all right?”

Tsubaki Sakura cackled. “She's as well as she ever is after exams.”

Rika Sena huffed in displeasure. “She's always waiting until the last minute to study and do her work. And then she was too worked up to sleep when we were waiting for results. I think she was up for three days straight. I don't know how she expects to get into Ninth Division.” She pouted at the slouched figure as Tsubaki gleefully poked her from the other side. “Aya-chan, get up and say hello.”

The girl moaned something. It didn't particularly resemble actual words.

Sōjirō laughed. “That's all right. Those exams were awful. Let her rest. Wait, she's not going to suffocate on any food is she?”

Tsubaki grinned. “Now there's an idea.”

Rika frowned severely. “Tsubaki!”

Tsubaki rolled her eyes. “Anyway, speaking of awful exams.” She settled her chin on one hand and gave Sōjirō a sly look. “It seems they weren't as awful for some of us as for others. Fifth place, Kusaka? Damn.”

Sōjirō laughed bashfully. “It comes as a surprise to me, really.”

“Oh? You didn't think getting tutored by the little genius would help your marks? And how did you get him to do that, anyway? I always heard the little ice prince wouldn't deign to socialize with anyone. But you two have been all study-buddy-buddy.”

Sōjirō frowned. “Don't talk about him like that. He's not an 'ice prince' or whatever. He has a tendency to get lost in studying and ignore everything else if you don't drag him away from it. And he wasn't tutoring me. Not really.” Tsubaki raised her eyebrows. He clarified. “He wasn't happy with his score on the progress exams so I shared my notes with him. Then we got to talking and practicing, and that lead to us reviewing everything, and, well...” He swept a hand before him, as though indicating something continuing in perpetuity.

Tsubaki regarded him with about as much skepticism as someone who doubted the blueness of the sky. “ _You_ were the one helping _him_?”

Sōjirō didn't like her tone. “Yes,” he ground out.

“And he ended up with higher scores than you. Despite you being the tutor. How does that even work?”

In his head, Sōjirō heard Momo Hinamori's cheerful voice saying, _Ah! If you taught Shiro-chan, then you must be the one who got first place!_

Hideaki Asaba frowned in disapproval. “Tsubaki, really? Are you really going there? Do you know what tact is?”

“Did he get someone in each year group to show him the ropes so he could pass them up? Is that how he did it?” She pitched her voice high and childlike. “'Senpai, senpai, please help me!'”

Aya managed to roll her head to face the oncoming train wreck. Her exhausted face took on a note of morbid fascination.

Sōjirō glared hard. He forced his voice to be quiet-- he knew if he started yelling he might not be able to stop. “How _dare_ you accuse him of that.”

Tsubaki shrugged and pasted an innocent look on her face. “I wasn't accusing, I was proposing hypotheticals trying to make sense of things.”

“He worked _hard_ to get as far as he did. He needed help and I could give it. I was glad to give it. He didn't ask, I offered.”

She tilted her head and looked at him from heavy-lidded eyes. Her voice dripped with cynicism. “So you kindly offered yourself as a stepping stone for the teachers' little darling and _coincidentally_ managed to get yourself dragged upstream behind him?”

“Tsubaki!” Rika snapped, scandalized.

“What?” Tsubaki looked unrepentant.

Blood rushed in Sōjirō's ears. He felt his pulse throbbing in his temples. He couldn't remember ever being so angry. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but found himself at a loss for words. He wanted to snarl at her. He wanted to throw something at her. He clenched his fists and ground his teeth. He abruptly stood and grabbed his breakfast tray with more force than needed, slopping the remainder of his miso soup over its edge and onto the table. His voice was positively arctic as he sneered, “Excuse me. I seem to have lost my appetite.” He stormed away.

“Kusaka-san!” cried Rika.

“Oh, did I hit a nerve?” drawled Tsubaki.

Rika managed to keep her voice to a low screech. “You're not helping!”

If they said anything more, Sōjirō didn't hear it.

Neither did the camera fly programmed to follow him.

x§x§x

Sōjirō didn't remember how he got outside, but outside he was. He wandered aimlessly, not caring that he wasn't dressed for the cold. He wasn't fully aware of his surroundings. His mind buzzed like a swarm of angry bees. He tried to force himself to just stop thinking about what had been said because he was only making himself angrier. It didn't work very well. He had never really had to handle truly offended anger before. At some point he found himself near the zanjutsu training hall. He leaped for the chance to do anything that would force him to focus on something besides Tsubaki's snide words. He spent the rest of the morning doing kata with rather more force than necessary. On one hand, he felt ashamed that he was essentially throwing a tantrum because he didn't like what someone said. On the other hand, he was pleased that he hadn't started a fight and it felt good to vent.

He didn't particularly want to go back to the cafeteria for lunch, so he didn't. He spent the afternoon wearing himself out with hakuda kata. By dinner his stomach was adamant in its demand for food so he grudgingly returned to the scene of the crime, so to speak. He first thought to wait until most people were done with their meals, but then decided that he wasn't going to slink around like he had something to be ashamed of.

He grabbed a tray and stiffly sat alone. He was keenly aware of the sea of whispers around him. He wondered how many were about him. He wondered if they had only begun whispering about him recently or if he just hadn't noticed that he now attracted the same whispers he had known to follow on his friend's heels. He deliberately focused narrowly on his meal, stone-faced. The group from that morning had the good sense to not approach him while he ate. When he was done, though, he veered for an exit only to be met by three of the four sixth years. Tsubaki was wisely not present.

Rika stepped forward as unofficial spokesperson, wringing her hands anxiously. “Kusaka-san, we're so sorry about this morning. Can we talk?”

Sōjirō glared at all of them. His conscience niggled that they had expressed their disapproval of Tsubaki's words as she spoke them and didn't deserve to be screamed at. But he was still so furious that he felt on the edge of snapping. “Not tonight,” he finally grit out. “I don't want to hear it. I'm in no mood to talk. I have never been so offended in my life. If we talk now, you won't like it.”

They cringed as a group. Rika fluttered her hands about in distress. “O-oh. Okay. We'll just... give you some time, then.”

Aya, far more conscious than before but face still pasty and sporting raccoon-like dark circles beneath her eyes, hoarsely interrupted. “If it makes you feel any better, Rika screamed at Tsubaki for like an hour straight and Tsubaki is now slinking around campus in terror.”

Sōjirō looked back at Rika, who he knew as a cheerful and often submissive girl who prioritized others over herself and was unfailingly polite. He had difficulty wrapping his mind around the idea of her screaming ferociously.

Aya recognized the look on his face. “Yeeeah, you know how they say to beware the nice ones? That was written to describe Rika.”

Rika blushed. “A-anyway, Kusaka-san, we'll leave you alone. We're so sorry. Good night.”

Sōjirō nodded curtly and stalked past her.

Even though he had worn himself out practicing all day, sleep was a long time coming that night.

x§x§x

Sōjirō's body must have decided to make the best of any opportunity to recover from a high-stress state because he slept straight through breakfast and into mid-morning. He groggily squinted at the far-too-bright light spilling in his window. He groaned and buried his head in the pillow. Eventually, he sighed and forced himself up. Once he was dressed he realized he still had a couple hours until lunch would be available. Since it was the day before New Year's Eve and he really didn't want to socialize with anyone, he stayed in and did his own little version of osoji, meticulously cleaning his dorm room. He wondered if Tōshirō was cleaning with his family. Or maybe they'd be on to cooking by now? He wondered what a good home-cooked meal would taste like. He didn't remember ever having one. He thought it surely must be better than the food given to the students by the school. The atmosphere must be entirely different, too. The more he thought about it, the more he wished he had a family to return to like Tōshirō did. He got lost in thought. Some time later, he found himself kneeling by his door and staring wistfully at his perfectly clean room, just sitting and _wanting_. It was entirely too depressing.

He scowled and lightly smacked his own cheeks. “Get it together, Sōjirō.” He sighed deeply and clapped his hands on his thighs. He stood and reluctantly made his way to the cafeteria for lunch.

Again, he was very aware of the glances and whispers. He fetched a tray of food and faced the tables to search out a place to sit. He noticed for the first time the way some people who had been looking at him looked away when he met their eyes. He had been a quiet observer of his classmates long enough to recognize unconscious shame at participating in gossip. His mouth formed a grim line as he panned the room a second time.

Rika Sena stood and gingerly waved him over to the table her friends had claimed in the far corner of the room. He noted that Tsubaki was absent again and decided to join them. He stalked over with his head held high and sat stiffly. He began to eat with slow, deliberate movements.

“Um, good afternoon, Kusaka-san.” Rika's voice was timid.

He pursed his lips for a moment. He consciously chose to not be petty. Mostly. He replied with a terse “Good afternoon.”

The four of them ate in awkward silence for several minutes. Sōjirō deliberately ignored the silent conversation they had with an exchange of furtive glances and waited for one of them to speak first. He couldn't say he was surprised that Rika took the initiative.

She fixed him with a serious look. “Kusaka-san. I want to apologize to you for all of us. We should have stopped her from saying those horrible things. We could all see that she was building up to something... offensive, and we didn't stop her.” She bowed her head for a moment. Hideaki nodded his agreement.

Aya broke in. “We've impressed upon her that she went way too far and she needs to apologize. Whether she'll have the nerve to do so....” She shrugged. “Who knows?”

Slowly, he replied, “I accept your apology. Though I guess I can't really blame you for what she said. You don't control her. I'm sorry I was so curt to you. I've just-- I've never been so angry at someone in my life. I let it get the best of me.”

Hideaki's lips quirked up into an odd half-smile of sympathy. “No worries. We understand.”

“I am wondering one thing, though.” Sōjirō leveled an even stare on each of them. “The kind of things she said....” He trailed off and wondered if he really wanted to know the answer to his question. He firmed his resolve. “I haven't been paying attention to the gossip since I met Tōshirō. And before I met him, I stopped listening when whoever was talking got nasty. The things she said-- are those the kinds of things people have been saying about us all this time?”

The three friends winced as one. It spoke volumes.

“Well--” Rika cut herself off and looked deeply uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Hideaki bluntly confirmed.

Sōjirō's face twisted in confused disgust. “But why?!”

“Because people are assholes and will latch onto anything unusual to talk about to distract themselves from their own underwhelming lives or excuse their own lackluster performance,” drawled Aya. “Add active jealousy of both of you and the student body is a powder keg ready to explode.”

Sōjirō blinked. “Jealousy? Of both of us?”

Aya raised her eyebrows and swayed with her drawn out “Ohhhhhhhhh yeeeeeeeeeeah.” She took a drink. “I'm talking enough jealousy to paint all of Seireitei green. Hitsugaya bore the brunt of it earlier in the year but now you've made yourself a target, too.”

He sputtered. “What? What are you talking about? I just made friends with him!”

“That's exactly the problem,” answered Hideaki. “I know you knew enough of the rumors to know he was seen as a loner who didn't care about his classmates. Right?”

Sōjirō shifted uneasily. “Yeah. But he's not like that at all.”

“Everyone else doesn't know that. What they see is someone who spurned everyone else--”

“He wasn't-- wasn't _spurning_ people! What is _wrong_ with people--”

“Spurning or just not noticing, whatever, it had the same effect. So here's some genius loner the teachers pretend to not be nuts about but everyone knows they totally are and suddenly he deems one of their peers worthy of socializing with him.”

Sōjirō's lip curled in disgust. “You make him sound so elitist.”

Hideaki and Aya shrugged. Hideaki continued. “And that someone isn't the number one student in the class or an acknowledged prodigy in a subject or even anyone super popular, but someone who has been cruising in ninth place for a couple years.”

Sōjirō scowled. “Maintaining ninth place wasn't exactly easy, you know.” He was ignored.

“Someone who doesn't exactly stand out from the crowd,” added Aya.

Hideaki absently pushed the contents of his bowl around with his chopsticks. “So here are a bunch of people who thought maybe they'd be special enough to be noticed by the prodigy and then maybe something good would happen to them, but the guy noticed you instead. And the question of _why you_ is burning them up.”

“First: He noticed me because I actually greeted him and spoke to him like he was a human being. Anyone else could have done that. It's their own fault they didn't. Second: What, do people think I'm a nobody or forgettable or something?” Sōjirō sulked.

Rika face fell in dismay. “Kusaka-san, we're not saying that. People are-- people-- they just--”

Aya sighed and pushed her dark, lank hair behind her ears. “People are assholes.”

“So anyway,” continued Hideaki. “That's how people end up speculating about you two. And yeah, there are some pretty awful things bandied about.”

Sōjirō stared at each of them in turn. “Like what?” The three exchanged glances again. He dreaded the answer.

Rika's hands fluttered nervously around the various things on her tray, picking up and discarding them. “W-well, there are two kind of things, I guess. There are the people who are just angry at you guys for doing better than them and the people who are angry and also make things up.”

Sōjirō spoke more heavily. “Like what?”

Aya took another drink and hummed thoughtfully. “I guess we'll start with the ones who are just angry. At least they're... honest-ish? Let's go with that. At least they're honest-ish about it.” She chewed a mouthful of rice. “Ichijōji and Miyazawa are pissed. I wouldn't be surprised if the person who hates Hitsugaya the most is Miyazawa.”

Sōjirō thought of the polite redheaded young woman who always seemed to be a smiling model student. “Really?”

Aya nodded. “Yep. You know how long she's held second place, right? Well, she's been gunning to take first from Arima for ages. Then Hitsugaya breezed in and knocked her down to third on the most important exam we've ever taken. She's not really the rumor-mongering type, but if your friend ever feels like someone in a crowd is trying to murder him with their mind, it's probably her. Or Ichijōji, I guess. Everyone knows he's trying to place higher than his older brother did when he went through Shin'ō. His brother was fourth in his class so Ichijōji probably thought he was safe in third until the big upset. Those two are more likely to wage war academically than to actually say anything, though. God, this last term is going to be hell.”

Hideaki idly traced the rim of his drinking glass with one finger. “And that's not even counting the people who are also angry at Kusaka-kun and the people who are gossiping.”

Ominous. “Who's angry at me, why, and what are people saying?” Sōjirō wondered if he was wisely assessing a situation or falling into morbid curiosity.

Hideaki hummed. “You and Hitsugaya together bumped Umino from fourth to sixth. I don't think you need to worry about him, though. Umino is pretty mild-mannered. He only ever seems to get mildly passive-aggressive and then get down on himself. He's a perfectionist and was angling to move up from fourth place. Something about wanting to look better on his application for Twelfth Division. I don't know why he's worried-- his academics are stellar and I doubt Twelfth cares much about combat practicals if they have a shiny new mind to work for them.”

Sōjirō looked at them all apprehensively. “That... doesn't sound too bad.”

Rika fretted, hands jittery. “Well, you two did bump Izawa-san from fifth to seventh. She's very-- very--” She grimaced, unable to continue.

Aya picked up from where Rika left off. “Spiteful. Did you pay attention to the passive-aggressive infighting back in third year? When Miyazawa and Izawa kept juggling placements?”

Sōjirō stared blankly.

“Okay then. Back then Izawa got pissed when Miyazawa started placing higher than her consistently. So she pulled some strings and manipulated her way into getting most of the girls to give Miyazawa the silent treatment. They had a... I believe the polite term is 'verbal confrontation.' I don't know all the details about what came after but they somehow ended up in a state of détente. I don't know if I'd call them friends but they don't seem to want to kill each other anymore. But Izawa is no stranger to talking trash and she's furious that you knocked her down. She seems to have seen Hitsugaya as a threat from the day he transferred to sixth year. She's the source of a couple of the things Tsubaki said. And now you've walked into her sights.”

Hideaki tapped an odd little rhythm into the tabletop with his fingers, looking thoughtful. “Watch out for Aotoa. You bumped him from sixth to eighth. I heard he ended up staying here over the holiday. One of the other guys said he's stalking around the library. He's angry-- rumor says it's something about trying to show up his cousin in Ninth Division-- and he's very good at making up stories.”

Sōjirō felt quite disheartened. “I didn't realize how vicious the competition was in the top group. I mean, I was happy and felt challenged holding onto ninth. That was a personal thing, though. To get so angry over it... I just...” He shook his head slowly, at a loss for words.

Rika timidly said, “Well, I kind of get it. Our performances at Shin'ō are going to determine a lot about our immediate futures. Maybe even our entire career paths. For some people, their places in their families. So I can see being that desperate about rankings. I don't see the need for all the anger and backstabbing, though.”

Aya snorted and leaned on one elbow. “Shinigami education and social ladder-climbing are bloodsports.”

Sōjirō stared at the table, face grim and troubled. “I suppose they are.”

A few minutes passed in silence. Most of the other students had left the cafeteria. Aya abruptly sat up straight and stared at the entrance. The rest of the group followed suit. Tsubaki had just come in, looking wary. She noticed them and paused. Sōjirō pinned her with his best death glare and Rika managed to project the image of an angry and disappointed mother. Tsubaki flinched and skittered around the cafeteria perimeter like a cat avoiding hungry dogs. She grabbed some food and left quickly, glancing over her shoulder several times as if she expected to be pursued.

Aya relaxed and snorted again. “Scaredy cat.”

Sōjirō flexed his hands and forced himself to count backwards to calm down. He couldn't stop his voice from being curt when he spoke. “That reminds me. You didn't tell me what people have been saying.”

The three friends froze for a moment. Hideaki and Aya sighed. Rika fretted. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Sōjirō's voice was heavy with dread. “Not really. But I think I need to.”

Aya sighed again and rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck as though loosening up to wade into a fight. “Okay then. Most of it is trash talk or ridiculous gossip about Hitsugaya. You being rolled into it is a new thing. Most of it started when people started getting pissed off that he was passing them up. So those people, being insecure or arrogant assholes, lashed out at him in gossip. For most of the year the gossip focused on how he got into the Academy, how he's moving through it so quickly, and why he won't-- wouldn't-- really talk to anyone.

“First it became known that he was enrolled with the sponsorship of the lieutenant of the Tenth Division, backed up by her captain when the Chief Instructor objected to admitting someone so young. So theories started popping up regarding what motive the lieutenant could have had and why her captain would go with it. One of the wilder ones was that Hitsugaya was the secret lovechild of the lieutenant of the Tenth. Then someone managed to find out that Hitsugaya came from Junrinan, and since the Shibas are known to have a fireworks workshop there people started wondering if he was the captain's kid, or maybe Lieutenant Shiba's kid. Then Captain Ukitake came to observe the sixth year midterm tournament and someone saw his hair and started a rumor that _he_ was Hitsugaya's father. All of those rumors focused on him being related to someone with a lot of clout who could influence the administration to usher Hitsugaya through the curriculum. A lot of fingers were pointed at how the Kuchiki clan adopted some girl a few years back and got her yanked out of the Academy and placed in Thirteenth without graduating. So the rumors turned into it being something like that but with moving him through the curriculum fast so he could graduate and not invite nepotism gossip. Some did come up with a more honorable alternative-- that he had connections to at least one of those people and was taught a lot of the curriculum privately as he grew up. In that vein of rumors, him not talking to anyone was to prevent himself from giving away the family connection, or maybe he was related to a noble house and thought himself superior to everyone else.”

Sōjirō stared numbly. “Heaven forbid he advance on his own merit and be an introvert.”

Hideaki smirked. “I know, right? Can't be honestly outdone by a little kid who doesn't even notice them. Injures their delicate pride. We can't have  _that_ .”

They all briefly quirked their lips in amusement.

“So.” Aya laced her fingers together and stretched her arms over her head. “The people who still wanted to explain away how he was beating them but weren't going for the sordid secret family manipulation angle went for the ' _obviously_ he must be cheating' angle. Hitsugaya fanned those flames by doing most of his fourth year work over summer break. You know, when there is minimal student and teacher supervision? There was something about him meeting with teachers through break and somehow people turned that into the teachers helping him cheat his way through that year of material because reasons. There were lots of other inane theories, but they all boiled down to cheating of some sort. Oh, wait, there was one other super weird one. Some of the science geeks aiming to get into Twelfth started saying maybe he was an experiment or something. They said he could be something like the shinigami Captain Kurotsuchi created a few years back to be his lieutenant. They said _obviously_ Hitsugaya was advancing quickly because learning was more like programming for him.” She rolled her eyes in the most exaggerated way she could manage. “They mostly dropped that, though. That might actually make him cool to them.”

Words failed to describe the sheer outraged bewilderment on Sōjirō's face. “He's a boy. Who is very smart. And works very hard. And is shy. And it bothers them so much that they-- they do-- what is _wrong_ with people?”

Hideaki smirked derisively. “Kind of makes you lose your faith in humanity, huh?”

“Ugh.”

“And we haven't even gotten to your grand entrance.”

“ _Ugh._ ”

Rika fretted. “Maybe we should stop there for now.”

Sōjirō rubbed his hands over his face. “Ugh, no. Don't drag it out. Get it all over with at once.”

Rika frowned doubtfully. “If you say so.”

Aya sighed heavily. “Okay. So. You started studying with Hitsugaya like a week after he transferred into sixth year, right?”

Sōjirō dully answered, “Yeah.”

“Well, the gossip mill could never quite decide on a theory for why you two got all friendly. Tsubaki said a couple of them. There was the idea that you thought you'd get in good with the prodigy who's probably going to be very well-placed in whatever Division he joins. The reasoning there was that everyone knows the Divisions will be fighting to recruit him and maybe you could butter him up to the point that he could negotiate your admission as a condition of joining whichever Division. Then you would be in a position to ask for favors as he's promoted. Never mind that your ranking at ninth place was still pretty damn good and would already open a lot of doors for you. Similarly, there was the idea that you portrayed yourself as someone who wanted to help him or be friends with him but you really intended to take advantage of his 'genius' and use him as a tutor to better your own performance. My guess is that one's going to be more popular now.”

Sōjirō's lip curled in disgust.

“Then there's the one that it's actually _Hitsugaya_ taking advantage of _you_ to catch up, which led to the one in which Hitsugaya did that for every year. Never mind that everyone knows he didn't get close to anyone until you.” She rolled her eyes. “Then some people combine the two and think you're both using each other for your own benefit. That you have a business agreement of sorts-- that you'd get him caught up and then he'd help tutor you on new material and there is no actual friendship involved. _Quid pro quo_ and all that. So basically, there's debate on which of you is a selfish, scheming monster and which is a pitiable dupe. Or whether both of you are cold-hearted pragmatists.”

Hideaki rested his chin on his hands. “And now you two threw fuel on the flames by jumping up the ladder. The rankings through about seventh place had been static for almost two years so it's a startling shakeup.”

“Don't be surprised if someone tries to make your life harder out of spite. Especially since everybody noticed Hitsugaya's been monopolizing your time. There have been mutterings that when you landed him as a friend or asset or whatever you started thinking you were better than everyone else and joined Hitsugaya's little Don't-Speak-To-The-Commoners Club. So whether they think you are using him or being used, people are pushing that you've climbed up onto a high horse and very much enjoy the view. It all comes back around to them resenting that you were 'special' enough to be noticed by him. Of course, none of them seem to have any insight into how they wish they could be in your position for the exact reasons they're making up to criticize you. Frankly, it says a lot about them. It's not every single classmate, but there are enough of them to be a nuisance.”

Sōjirō stared blankly, dumbfounded.

Aya smirked. “You'd think if people were that pissed off about being outdone they'd work on themselves more. But noooo, it's easier to try to drag someone down into the mud.”

Rika frowned. “I understand them getting frustrated but they really take it to ridiculous lengths.”

Sōjirō massaged his temples, fighting off a headache. “How do you even know all this, Sawada-san?”

Aya raised her glass in a mock toast. “I'm going to be the best reporter Seireitei Communication ever had. I know how to blend in and listen. You'd be surprised what some people will blurt out when someone is, say, quietly reading a book on a hallway bench, right out in the open. And of course, people do openly get all excited about passing on gossip whether you want to hear it or not.”

Sōjirō grunted and stared dully at the table for a moment. He heaved a sigh and stood. “Thanks for telling me.”

Aya gave him a little wave of her fingers. “No problem. Wish it was a more pleasant topic, though.”

Sōjirō laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, me too. Excuse me, I have a lot to think about.”

“Of course,” Rika said sympathetically. “And I'm sorry about all this.”

Sōjirō headed for the doors in a daze.

The camera fly dropped from its perch on a light fixture and silently followed him.

x§x§x

Sōjirō wanted to wander around again but simply didn't have the energy. He was utterly overwhelmed and had a blinding headache. He trudged back to his dormitory. He closed the door and slowly turned to face the room. He took a couple steps in then leaned heavily on the wall. He slid down it gradually, finally flopping on the ground. He leaned into the wall sideways, his cheek pressed against its cold surface. He stared expressionlessly at the little window. The corners of the panes of glass were frosted. It was only mid-afternoon but the winter sun had already started to fall. He sat and watched as the light streaming in his window dimmed. He felt detached. Watching the shadows shift as the quality of the sunlight changed was much better than thinking. He stayed that way until well after sunset, when his room was shrouded in one large shadow. He didn't particularly care to light a lamp and he had no appetite, so he slowly made his way to his futon and lay on it. It was as if his mind was trying so hard to slow his thinking that it slowed his body as well. It was slightly surreal. Mercifully, it wasn't long before he fell asleep.

Hunger woke him before dawn. He blearily crawled out of bed and grabbed fresh clothes. He went through his routine like a thoughtless automaton. He shuffled to the cafeteria in the frosty winter morning. It was far too early for breakfast, so the hall was eerily empty. His footsteps echoed as he approached a table near the northern bank of windows. He plopped down in a chair and stared out the window, watching weak sunlight return to the sky as he had watched it depart the night before. This time, though, he thought.

The revelations the day before had blown him out of the water. Back in the Rukongai and through the majority of his time at Shin'ō, he had become used to being generally well-liked. While he had wanted a deeper connection with somebody, he could patiently wait for the right person to come along and be content with his generally positive social standing. He was by no means popular, but he was generally accepted. He was just an unoffensive person. Certainly not the subject of malicious gossip. Well, that he knew of. He had been complimented on his friendliness and optimism. He had participated in some study groups and given and received help. He had been praised for doing so. Yet somehow, his doing the same thing with one particular person-- someone who had done nothing wrong himself-- was unacceptable. It was a shock. The unfairness got under his skin. The more he thought about it, the more appalled he was.

It was difficult for him to understand why anyone would behave in such a way. Tōshirō had commented wonderingly on his idealism and general faith in people several times. He had thought his friend was just being teasingly cynical. Perhaps Tōshirō actually had good reason to be legitimately cynical. Considering what he had learned the day before, that was a troubling thought. Actually, when he thought about it, the topic of gossip had come up between them several times. Tōshirō always dodged the subject, danced away from it as though barely avoiding the pricking of thorns. He remembered that gossip had come up in their first true conversation; Tōshirō had flinched when told the gossip accused him of obsession. He hadn't been surprised, though. Tired and briefly hurt, but not surprised. He wondered just how much of the gossip Tōshirō was privy to. He felt like he had been wandering a fool's paradise while his friend was all too aware of the dark underbelly of the beast that was the Academy's social structure. He hadn't particularly cared about it before. He had known gossip existed, had listened in on the less nasty of it, but had the luxury of not being bothered by its general existence. It was abstract to him. He hadn't realized just how hurtful slander could be. In theory, yes, but not in hard reality.

He boiled with the angry desire to scream at people that none of what they said was true and they were petty monsters for spreading lies to make themselves feel better. He kept thinking of things he could have said to Tsubaki that first day-- clever comebacks, insults, ways he could have made her look a fool-- all too late, of course. There was just something so disorienting about finding out that a lot of people professed you to be something you most definitely were not. That others had evaluated the same situations he had and come to such radically different and negative conclusions evoked an awful sense of cognitive dissonance. His mind was caught in a frustrating series of loops. He kept circling through anger at his peers, concern and indignation for Tōshirō and himself, and the abyss he shied from plumbing: Was such behavior also established in the Thirteen Divisions? Was this some petty school thing or would it follow him and Tōshirō for the rest of their careers? He also struggled to suppress the niggling consideration that maybe they were right about him and he just didn't want to see it. He wanted to be optimistic. It was his nature. But he was still reeling. Yet he didn't want to surrender.

_Perhaps_ , he thought, _Perhaps it isn't quite as bad as Aya and the others made it seem. Technically, they were gossiping, too. So things could have been exaggerated. I need to wait until I can observe the alleged main players myself. I may very well be overreacting._

Finally able to shove the turbulent thoughts in a box to be dealt with later, Sōjirō settled in to watch the sunrise and wait for breakfast. He eventually got the first tray of food served. He took his time eating and was still done before the next person stumbled in. From past experience, he found that breakfast on New Year's Eve was a sparsely-attended affair. Many of the students deliberately slept in so they would be able to stay awake for the overnight party and sunrise-viewing the next day. He decided to attend the party. It had been awhile since he had been to a social gathering. He hoped it would do him good. His little breakdown hadn't allowed him the most restful of sleep, so he headed back to his dorm and planned to sleep until lunch.

If emotional distress could do thing one thing properly it was leave a body burned out once it was calmed. Sōjirō indulged in the deep sleep of the utterly exhausted until mid-afternoon.

x§x§x

Sōjirō washed up and headed to the cafeteria for the evening meal, which would blend into the overnight party. New Year's Eve was supposed to be spent at home with one's family; most of the student body who came from Rukongai had no family, so they celebrated together. Like many of the students who stayed over the holiday, his uniform was the nicest piece of clothing he owned. There were a few people in simple kimono here and there, but most of those with the means to own kimono were at home with their families. The majority of those wearing nicer clothes were sixth years from minor noble houses who had chosen to stay at the school for the break to study and practice before their final term. Sōjirō never knew what to think of them. He personally thought time with family would be more meaningful than an extra ten days of studying, but he supposed he was enough of an outsider to such social circles that he might just be missing something about their motives. The conversation the day before made him wonder how much of the tooth-and-claw competition was prompted by family issues. Anyone Aya and Hideaki had mentioned as furious came from some level of noble house in Seireitei. He decided he didn't want to wander down that road that night and shelved his speculation.

Sōjirō wandered the brightly-lit hall. He greeted several people and ended up sitting with a couple of guys he had done some projects with over the years. Much to Sōjirō's relief, they fell into easy conversation that revolved around Taniguchi's romantic woes and Kunikida's enduring crush on an older sixth year girl who had gone home for the holiday. When conversation turned his way, he offered up his adventures in penmanship and the various running jokes it had spawned between him and Tōshirō. Since their past collaboration had left them familiar with just how horrible his handwriting could be, they were thoroughly entertained.

After dinner, Sōjirō excused himself to use the washroom. When he returned, Tsubaki Sakura was standing just inside the entrance. She looked twitchy and almost hunted. She glanced to one side. Sōjirō followed her gaze and saw the rest of her group staring at her. Rika looked stern and both Aya and Hideaki looked blandly unimpressed. Sōjirō looked back at Tsubaki. They just stared at each other for a few moments.

Sōjirō sighed and shifted impatiently. “Is there a reason you're staring at me? It's kind of disturbing.”

Tsubaki scowled. “I'm not staring.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you-- wait, no, I'm not getting into this childish idiocy with you. Believe what you want.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.” They kept staring sourly at one another. “Are you going to move or is there a reason you're not-staring at me?”

Tsubaki's face went pink. “Well, I was going to apologize but you're being a jerk about it.”

“Why would I be polite to someone just blocking my path and staring at me? And why should I expect anything but more horribly offensive rubbish from you?”

“That--! You--! I'm not--! UGH!” She growled in frustration and her face shifted more toward red than pink.

Sōjirō affected satirical interest. “Fascinating. Do go on.”

“Ugh, why are you being so damn difficult about this?!”

“Oh, I dunno,” he drawled. “Maybe because our last conversation involved you trashing my friend and nastily questioning my integrity. That tends to make a person bitter. Do forgive me.”

Tsubaki couldn't get much redder in the face but her expressions cycled through a delightful assortment of shame, anger, embarrassment, and frustration. She opened her mouth to speak a few times, but snapped her jaw shut each time. She closed her eyes and visibly gathered herself. She finally looked him in the eye and sullenly grit out an obviously rehearsed apology. “I want to apologize for the things I said the other day. They were baseless rumors and such accusations were uncalled for. I'm sorry for insulting your friend and offending you. I hope that we can put this behind us in the spirit of the New Year. Please forgive me.” She bowed stiffly.

Sōjirō watched her coolly. In nearly any other situation, he would have fallen over himself to accept the apology and let bygones be bygones. In the corner of his vision he could see people watching their little scene and whispering about them. He felt like he would never be able to shake his new hyper-awareness of being watched and whispered about. He felt like his comfortable world had been rocked on its axis. Things would never be quite the same. At the same time, he knew that Tsubaki had only been the mouthpiece of a wider swath of people. He wavered on how much blame she deserved as the messenger. While it had been the first retort he could think of, he realized he had spoken the truth: He was bitter. Resentful, even. It made him uncomfortable. He felt both that his resentment was justified and that it was inappropriate.

His morals won out. Mostly. He inclined his head regally. “I accept your apology. I will likely not forget what you said, though. Mind that you don't do it again.” With that, he swept past her. He headed for the table he had been sitting at earlier. He held his head high as he waded through a sea of whispers. The murmuring tide ebbed as he sat once more.

Taniguchi grinned. “Well, whatever that was about, I must say: Damn, Kusaka-san. You could out-snob a noble.”

Kunikida smiled slightly. “Hear here.”

Tension bled out of Sōjirō. His shoulders relaxed and he chuckled sheepishly. “I don't know about that.”

Taniguchi grabbed a sweet from a platter of desserts they must have acquired while Sōjirō was away. He popped it in his mouth and feigned nonchalance. “What _was_ that about, anyway?”

Aaand the tension returned. Joy. Sōjirō stalled by plucking a sweet of his own from the platter. He hemmed and hawed as he chewed. The other two knew exactly what he was doing but patiently left him to it. Finally, he swallowed and carefully said, “Sakura-san and I had an... unpleasant encounter the other day. Her friends seem to have finally prodded her into apologizing.”

Taniguchi raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell.”

Sōjirō frowned and picked up another sweet. “I dunno....” He popped it in his mouth and chewed, watching Taniguchi warily.

“Aww, come on! I've never seen you so pissed. What did she do?”

Sōjirō chewed thoughtfully. He swallowed and pursed his lips. He decided that perhaps he could get a second opinion on the state of the gossip. “She questioned To-- Hitsugaya-san's and my academic integrity and motives for being friends.” He took another sweet and watched the boys carefully.

Taniguchi whistled. “Daaamn, she had the nerve to say it to your face? And here I thought she was smart.”

Kunikida shook his head. “She's smart enough. She just has an unfortunate tendency to not think before she speaks. Like you when you talk about girls.”

Sōjirō snorted and Taniguchi looked wounded. “Right through the heart, Kunikida.” He melodramatically clutched his chest and dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. “Right through the _heart_.”

Sōjirō rested his head on one hand and idly rolled a sweet around with the other. “You say it wasn't smart of her to say it to my face. I've since heard that a lot is being said behind my back. In summary, supposedly Hitsugaya-san and I have stepped on some toes, several of the top students are angry at us, and some are likely to escalate the rumors. Is that true?”

Taniguchi blinked in surprise and Kunikida winced. The smaller boy sighed. “Unfortunately.”

Sōjirō picked up the sweet and rolled it between his fingers. “How bad would you say it is?” He popped the sweet in his mouth and sucked on it.

Taniguchi took a sweet and looked troubled. Kunikida propped his head on his elbows and frowned thoughtfully at the dessert tray. “It's hard to say. The problem with rumor-mongering is that it's often difficult to gauge how far a particular rumor spreads and whether people believe it or are passing it on _because_ it's unbelievable. Even guessing how the angry people will react would be based in part on rumors about them. My best guess would be that you'll see some snippy remarks and a lot of binge-studying. Izawa-san is the only one I know of who has taken overt action before. Hopefully the final term will keep them all too busy to do much.”

Sōjirō stared blankly at his hand as he tapped the table. After digesting that for a moment, he sighed and dully said, “I knew there were rumors about Hitsugaya-san, but I've never really thought about what that meant. It's awful.” He looked up at the boys. “I've heard that people have been saying I'm friends with Hitsugaya-san just to use him to improve my grades. Is that true?” His desire to be corrected was plain on his face.

Kunikida let out a huff and looked sympathetic. “Yeah. To an extent, anyway. I think there are only a handful of people who actually take it seriously.”

Taniguchi rallied himself and sat up straight. “Screw the ones who take it seriously-- you're a nice guy and you know the truth so just ignore them. Don't you start taking them seriously.” He jabbed a scolding finger at Sōjirō. “Don't let them get to you. Let their idiocy roll off you like water off a duck and just keep swimming along.” He looked quite pleased with his speech.

Sōjirō rolled his eyes. “Ignore them. Sure. Thanks for that sage advice.”

Taniguchi preened. “You're welcome.”

Sōjirō and Kunikida glanced at each other and smirked.

Conversation lightened again as the evening progressed. Toshikoshi soba was served when the hour grew quite late. At that point, someone smuggled in a generous amount of sake. Before long, Taniguchi broke out a deck of cards and he, Sōjirō, Kunikida, Aya, Hideaki and a couple others spent a few hours playing games of buta no shippo that got progressively more raucous as the players grew more tipsy. They finally became too uncoordinated to play a couple hours before dawn. They split up. Hideaki disappeared in pursuit of a girl. Kunikida fell asleep slumped on a table across from Sōjirō. Taniguchi and Aya had gotten on well and sat a bit away from Sōjirō and Kunikida, slurring horrible jokes at one another but laughing all the same, enjoying the pleasant point of drunkenness at which everything is immensely entertaining.

Sōjirō felt like he was drifting in a pleasant haze. At the same time, he felt like everyone else was slowly drifting away from him. Alcohol muffled his mind; the speech of those left in the room was an ambient jumble of voices. He tipped back the last of his sake and drowsily stared at the ceiling. He slipped into that strange state between sleep and wakefulness at which one can dream without being completely unconscious. He felt like he was floating in a sea of happy voices that sharpened and faded in turns. At some point they blended together into murmurs, then whispers. He felt like the whispers were a physical force surrounding him, that the whispers insisted on being heard, that they were pulling him downward and he couldn't resist--

He bumped his head on the table. He blearily stared at the grain of the wood and wondered why his face was so close to it. A headache was building strength behind his eyes. His ears rang with a high-pitched whine so loud it drowned out most noise in the room. He was very thirsty. He shifted sluggishly and found his cup. It was empty but he didn't have the energy to do anything about it so he just peered sadly at its emptiness.

Sōjirō began to feel an itch on the back of his neck, a strange prickling on the top of his head, an inexplicable tenseness his instincts told him meant he was being watched. He cast about lazily, focusing on face after face. Through the haze he spotted a young man staring at him from several tables away. His dark blue hair was sleekly combed. He wore a kimono that was simple but made of fine cloth. A large, open book sat before him on the table, a tea cup nearby. The guy's hand had paused in the motion of turning a page. Sōjirō focused on his face. Blue eyes stared directly at Sōjirō and narrowed as they made eye contact. He glanced down briefly-- at Sōjirō's sake cup?-- and curled his lip in disgust. He reached up and adjusted his glasses. Reflected light blocked his eyes from view as he turned his attention to his book.

Sōjirō watched him for a few moments. Then he decided he didn't want to bother figuring out what the hell had just happened and shifted to be more comfortable, head resting on his folded arms. He was about to drift off again when a glass of water was firmly set on the table in front of his face. The clunk was annoyingly loud. His eyes followed the arm that held the glass there until he found himself looking at Rika Sena. Her face bore a strange half-sympathetic, half-exasperated little twist of the lips. Sōjirō cast about for the right word for it. It wasn't a smile and it wasn't a frown. Was there a word in between? Frownysmile was weird. Perhaps--

She let go of the cup and tiredly poked his cheek. “Kusaka-san, get up and drink this water. It'll help with the hangover you're going to get. And wake up-- it's almost sunrise.”

Sōjirō blinked up at her. “Why'ren'tchu sleepin' on a table or somethin' too? You 'ere there,” he slurred.

She looked more exasperated. “I only had one cup of sake, Kusaka-kun.”

He scoffed. “Thatsch no fun.”

Rika rolled her eyes. “Someone had to stay sober enough to babysit you all.”

“Pfft. We ain't no babiesh.”

“Babies and drunk people are pretty similar, really,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. Get up. Some snow fell overnight. If you don't get up I'll go get a glass of it and pour it on your neck.”

“Nuh-uh. You wouldn't.” He squinted warily at her.

Aya's voice groaned, “Ugh, she totally would.”

Sōjirō pouted. “Mean,” he commented in the general direction of Aya's voice.

“Tooold you. The nice 'uns,” she replied.

Rika rolled her eyes again and flicked her fingers at Sōjirō's forehead. “Get up.”

Sōjirō slowly dragged himself upright. He reached up and held his forehead. “Wazzat really necessess-- nessesherry?”

“Drink your water.” Rika walked around to the other side of the table with another glass of water to tackle the chore of waking Kunikida.

Sōjirō sulkily sipped at his water and let his eyes wander the room. The light stung his eyes, so he looked out the window. He could tell that the sky was lightening, but the indoor light reflected off the windows and drove his gaze away. He zoned out. He lost some time; when he refocused, Rika was prodding a whining Taniguchi into wakefulness. He finished his water and sat placidly staring into space until Rika herded him and the others toward the doors. They were offered steamed pork buns as they exited.

“I don't want one,” Taniguchi whined.

“You're eating one. You need something in your stomach besides booze,” insisted Rika. Her pleasant voice edged towards irritable. They all wisely obeyed.

Sōjirō was glad for the warmth of the bun as the flock wandered out of the Academy courtyard and to a hill that was used as an obstacle in an endurance running course. The students milled about in the predawn, talking, whispering, yawning, laughing, all breathing out clouds of vapor in the frigid winter morning. Sōjirō was jostled in the crowd and separated from the group he had been with. He felt finding them would take too much effort. There were people around him but they felt far away. He felt like he was alone among all the people. He felt like he was floating. He also felt sick. He was rather detached when the sun peeked over the horizon. He knew he had looked forward to it in the past. This year, when he looked upon the first sunrise of the New Year he felt like it drove fiery spikes through his eyes and into his brain. He winced and recoiled. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and gripped his scalp with his fingers.

Somewhere off to his right, Aya's voice whimpered, “Oh God, it burns, it burns!” Any comments her friends added were lost in the chatter of the crowd.

Sōjirō grimaced and stared at the ground. He turned to look at the dark horizon opposite the sunrise. He blinked at it until his vision wasn't awash in burning light. He watched the stars fade as the violets and pinks and yellows of dawn bled across the sky.

“You're looking the wrong way, idiot,” a spiteful male voice quietly sneered beside him. The voice scoffed. “Not surprising, without your pet genius to guide you.”

Intoxication slowed his reaction. It took a moment to really process what had been said. By the time he turned to see who had spoken, the people closest to him were a cluster of sleepily giggling girls sharing hopes for the New Year. He scowled and turned to look toward the sun. He stopped halfway, the sunbeams simply too strong for his pounding head to handle. Even the far horizon was beginning to lighten. He decided he didn't want to be out in the bright morning and he had had enough of people in general. Sōjirō pushed his way through the crowd. He stumbled a bit and meandered toward the dormitory building. He wandered past his own room twice before finally recognizing it among the monotonous hallways. He staggered inside, sloppily pulled out his futon, and collapsed on it fully clothed. He was asleep before his body fell completely still.

Sōjirō dreamed.

The camera fly perched on the doorjamb and watched.

x§x§x

He had never had this dream before: He stood beneath a vast, dark sky the deep blue of midnight. He had the vague impression he was on a wide, open plain. It was difficult to tell for sure; the darkness cloaked all. In the distance he saw the faint white peak of a snow-capped mountain, the range around it simply a darker shadow beneath the night sky. Cold wind buffeted him from all directions. He sensed something radiating warmth behind him, but he didn't have the energy to investigate. He felt wobbly and the taste of sake lingered in his mouth. It was much easier to stand still and crane his head heavenward. He was more interested in the sky, anyway. High, thin clouds scudded across the sky at a glacial pace. A light snow was falling fitfully. He thought that was wrong, but was too muddled to really think about it. The entire view was both pretty and disconcerting.

Had there been more light, he would have seen a wide expanse of grassland bordered by far-off trees and more distant mountains. Had he inspected the area around him, he would have found he was in the curve of a clearing at the edge of a forest, within the confines of a square outlined in sacred shimenawa rope festooned at intervals with zigzagging shide streamers. Had he really peered through the dark, he would have seen those paper streamers rustling in the wind. Had he turned around to investigate the warmth, he would have discovered a banked fire beside a wide platform. Upon the platform he would have seen a large anvil and an array of tools; behind said anvil, he would have found a stocky, muscular man kneeling on a mat and staring at him with keen, troubled eyes. He would have seen that the blacksmith was speaking. Perhaps he would have tried to hear him over the gale.

Instead, Sōjirō stared blankly skyward until he felt like the dark canopy had swallowed him. He slid into another sort of dream. He heard distant whispers in the darkness. He sought their source, but found nothing. The whispers gradually grew louder, drifted closer to him from all directions. Whispers, whispers, all around him, punctuated by the occasional titter. Nearer, farther, louder, softer, murmuring and muttering and sneering and snickering. The void was a sea of unseen voices and Sōjirō felt himself sink in them and begin to drown.

x§x§x

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x§x§x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME: Aizen assesses the game board and makes his opening move.
> 
> Let me know what you think. Con/crit welcome.
> 
> Version 1 9/13/14


	4. Giuoco Pianissimo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My apologies for the delay. Had some health issues and this was a tricky chapter to write. It's also really long, hahahaha. By the way, expect long things from me. I love character development and worldbuilding.

x§x§x

x§x§x

x§x§x

“Sometimes terror and pain are not the best levers; deception, when it works, is the most elegant and the least expensive manipulation of all.”

― Vernor Vinge, _A Fire Upon the Deep_

x§x§x **CHAPTER FOUR: GIUOCO PIANISSIMO** x§x§x

Daybreak bathed the grounds of the Fifth Division in soft light that brightened the eastern faces of buildings and cast hidden corners into deeper shadow. Sleepy shinigami drifted out of the main courtyard in pairs and small groups. Captain Aizen stood at the main exit and warmly wished his subordinates Happy New Year as they filed past on their way to their barracks to sleep off the evening's entertainment. He watched with some amusement as his lieutenant prodded people to pick up after themselves as they left-- the _or else_ was not overtly stated but the threat was obvious in his body language and sharply teasing voice. Such was often the case with Gin Ichimaru.

All their little lambs were finally shepherded out of the courtyard an hour after sunrise. Aizen turned to leave, but paused for a moment to allow Ichimaru to saunter over and fall in step behind him. Together they walked to the main office building, Aizen quietly content and Ichimaru whistling a jaunty tune. A handful of officers loitered in the entryway. They fell into formation as their superiors joined them. Aizen gestured vaguely to Ichimaru, who then entered the Captain's Office. Aizen turned to face his subordinates.

“Good morning. Thank you for arriving in such a timely manner. I also wish to thank you for volunteering to work today. Ideally, we would all take these days off, but the unfortunate reality of this world is that it won't stop for us to do so. There are some things that simply must be done-- sadly, Hollows don't observe holidays.” Ichimaru ambled out of the office with a small stack of papers in hand and stood beside him. “I'm assigning you to loosely patrol various areas. You shouldn't have much trouble, but send a jigōkuchō for backup if you encounter anything you think may be too much to handle alone. Lieutenant Ichimaru will give you your assignments. Be safe. Report to the quartermaster's office for your supply packs. Report here for evening shift change to be relieved. Thank you again and Happy New Year. Dismissed.” He turned and slipped into his office while Ichimaru handed out papers.

Aizen shrugged off the extra cloak he had worn to ward off the winter chill overnight and hung it on a coat rack. He sat at his desk and idly paged through some documents while he waited for Ichimaru. The lieutenant entered with a nervous young recruit who had been assigned kitchen duty. She bore a tray with breakfast and tea for two.

“Breakfast time, Captain!” singsonged Ichimaru.

Aizen smiled gratefully. “Set it on the table, please, Kino-kun.”

“Yes, sir.” The willowy young woman did as she was ordered and stood for a moment, unsure what to do.

Aizen nodded at her. “Thank you, Kino-kun. You are dismissed.”

The young woman bowed, then straightened and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. She bit her lip for a moment and shyly said, “Happy New Year, Captain.”

Aizen smiled. “Thank you. A Happy New Year to you, as well.”

“Awwwwww,” Ichimaru mock-whined. “No New Year Happiness for me? I'm hurt.” He smirked.

The recruit flushed and scrambled to respond. “Oh! I'm sorry! H-happy New Year, Lieutenant Ichimaru!”

“Gin,” scolded Aizen. “That was unnecessary.” He turned back to Kino. “Don't mind him, Kino-kun. He is a horrible tease. Have a good day.”

The young woman bowed and hurried from the room, daring to briefly direct a mildly rebellious glance Ichimaru's way. The door clicked shut behind her and her footsteps receded. Both men were quiet for a moment.

Ichimaru grinned. “Haaa, she has a bit of spunk in her. She'll be fun to rile up.”

Aizen chuckled. “You and your games, Gin.”

“You say that like you don't enjoy a good mind game yourself.”

Aizen glanced at Ichimaru and merely quirked his lips slightly in reply. He set his documents in neat stacks and stood, then moved to the office's table and gracefully sat before it. Ichimaru strolled over and lounged across from him. Both began to eat.

“Did you look through the student dossiers, Gin?”

“Yep. Most of 'em are pretty borin'. I'm guessin' you're lookin' at the little child prodigy?” He fished a piece of mochi out of his soup, bit it, and stretched it as far as possible before biting some off and chewing.

Aizen hummed agreeably. “I've watched him from a distance for awhile. Ōnabara-sensei quite helpfully drew my attention to the Kusaka boy, as well.”

“Oh? Number five, right? Somethin' to do with his improvement at the end?”

“Yes.” Aizen sipped his tea. “He isn't particularly interesting on his own, but his friendship with Hitsugaya has elevated both of them. They would make an efficient pair of officers.”

Ichimaru slurped some of his broth. “Oh? Gonna recruit 'em and add 'em to your collection o' dupes? Maybe be their wonderful mentor and bring the prodigy in to help with your plans after you promote 'em and get 'em wrapped around your little finger?”

“I had considered it. Officers could make some useful allowances for a child they might not otherwise grant an adult. And children are generally perceived as innocents, which is useful in itself.” Aizen absently stirred the contents of his bowl. “I have decided against it for now. It is as they say: too many cooks spoil the broth. Our progress is more than adequate. Adding more pawns to manage could hinder us in the long run-- Hitsugaya in particular could be bothersome to control compared to the others. Another accomplice increases the risk of exposure. At the same time, leaving Hitsugaya and Kusaka to their own devices is also a risk. Ōnabara's opinion is that they will greatly enhance each other's abilities and likely rise through the ranks relatively swiftly. My end objective is still quite distant. They could have a few decades to mature. The last thing I need is a second coming of Kyōraku and Ukitake.”

Ichimaru grinned eagerly. “Ooh, someone gonna have a problem on their next field trip?”

Aizen thoughtfully ate a piece of carrot. “No. It is too soon to sabotage another Academy exercise to the degree we did last time. While effective, it draws attention. If it appears to become a common occurrence, someone may investigate. The death of a prodigy may invite an inquiry in itself.” He sipped his tea. “However, it is not uncommon for new recruits-- especially young recruits-- to be overwhelmed on a mission for their division. Especially if their superiors overestimate their abilities based on reputation for genius. The risk they present is not immediate. I can afford to be patient for a bit before I weed my garden.”

Ichimaru's grin widened sadistically. “So we're gonna pick up a couple more lambs an' lead 'em to slaughter when it suits our fancy?”

“Perhaps.” Aizen poured himself a second cup of tea. “I have a few weeks to think it through. It may be wiser to allow another division to recruit them. It would keep the prodigy's inevitably tragic death from instigating an investigation of Fifth Division.” He watched steam rise from his cup. “I'd like to minimize the number of deaths we cause and save termination for extraordinary threats. Eliminating the prodigy should negate any potential threat the Kusaka boy presents. Hitsugaya is his catalyst.”

Ichimaru idly stirred and stabbed the food floating in his broth. “You gonna just leave 'em be for awhile then? If we let 'em go to another division we can't control when the kid gets put in a vulnerable position. Could be a bit before we can nail him. Could give the tag-along time to grow a spine. Or killin' the kid could end up motivatin' him to _do better in his memory_ or somethin'.”

Aizen set his tea cup down and tapped a finger against its side, frowning in thought. “You make a good point. From what I've observed of this Kusaka over the last several days, he is loyal to the boy. I can see him turn the boy into a martyr. Hmm.”

“Observed?” Ichimaru waggled his eyebrows. “Been spyin' on schoolboys again, Captain?” His face shifted to a caricature of concern. “You haven't been watchin' his bedroom, have you? Such a deviant habit.” He smirked slyly and gulped some tea.

Aizen dipped his head and reproachfully looked at Ichimaru over his glasses frames. He didn't dignify the baiting with an answer. “The simplest solution would be to separate the two of them. If their relationship is severed, there is no direct mutual improvement. I suppose it could lead to a rivalry with a similar effect, but that motivation should cool once the prodigy is dead. If it doesn't, Kusaka can always have an accident somewhere down the line.”

“And how is the big bad shinigami captain gonna break 'em up without looking like a total creeper?” Ichimaru took more mochi and deliberately chewed with obnoxious loudness.

Aizen snorted almost soundlessly. “I may not have to do much at all. My evaluation of the Kusaka boy is that while he is fairly loyal to Hitsugaya, he has also been oblivious to the contempt the student body at large feels for him because of their friendship. My reconnaissance shows that he has recently been suddenly made aware of this social issue in an abrupt way which has left him reeling. I think he will be the weaker link of the two. I know a ruse I can use to have regular access to him. I can drop a comment or two here and there to provoke him in certain ways. I think I'll fabricate a scheduling conflict and push my usual presentation back from near the end of term to near the beginning of term and perhaps” --he paused and quirked his lips into the slightest of smiles-- “ _augment_ his negative experiences a bit.”

“Ooh, gonna get directly involved? Thought messin' with school kids was somethin' you'd shove off on someone else.”

Aizen smirked. “Things have been a bit dull lately.” He raised his cup in a mock salute. “As you said, I do enjoy a good mind game.”

x§x§x

Early that afternoon, Sōjirō didn't so much wake up as he regained just enough consciousness to realize he was miserable and thirsty and needed to do something about it. His usual carafe of water was within sight, so he crawled over to it and guzzled it down. He considered going and doing... something, he forgot what... but decided it was really too bright and the best place to hide from the glowy, eye-stabbity... _everything_... was in his futon. He dragged himself back to it and passed out half in the futon while clutching the pillow over his head. Fortunately, he did not smother himself in his sleep.

The sun had kindly dimmed to twilight when he woke again. His position and state of dress perplexed him. His memory of his first awakening was extremely fuzzy. Insatiable thirst and less severe misery still plagued him, accompanied by a new desperate need to relieve himself. Stumbling to his feet and staggering down the hall to the communal toilet required intense concentration. He caught sight of his face in the mirror as he washed up and grimaced at his ghastly appearance. His legs wobbled as he returned to his room and retrieved some toiletries and the yukata he wore after bathing and made his way to his dormitory building's communal bath house. Very little of his time there would register in his memory; he would remember sitting in the warm spray of the shower and wanting to soak in a bath but deciding against it as some deep part of his mind warned him he'd probably drown. The next thing he'd really remember would be stumbling through his room juggling a full carafe of water, his toiletries, and rumpled uniform. Everything but the water was carelessly dropped to the floor. The water was set down and regarded with the reverence due a sacred object. Then Sōjirō turned and flopped onto his futon. The thought of food was mildly interesting but the effort required to fetch it was daunting so he curled up under the covers. He slept straight through the night.

The next morning dawned on a world of sparsely falling snow. Sōjirō lay in his futon and squinted at the snowflakes floating past his window. He thought he may have dreamed of snow, but he couldn't be sure. As he woke more, he realized several things: He was parched, starved, and unpleasantly chilled-- he had gone to bed when his hair was still damp. Solving all those problems required moving. He groaned and shakily rolled out of his futon.

Half an hour later, he plodded into the cafeteria dry and fully dressed. He ate his cold osechi and hot ozōni in a daze, then wandered back to his room when other students started trickling into the cafeteria. He finished tidying up the mess he had made in his hangover stupor and sprawled out on his futon, feeling more human than he had all of New Year's Day. Still lethargic despite his long sleep, he was content to simply lay in bed and stare at the ceiling while letting his mind wander. Boredom crept up on him just before lunch. He went to the cafeteria early and ate alone again. The longer he sat there, the more he wanted Tōshirō to be sitting across from him. He ate quickly and left, pensively wandering toward his dormitory.

As best as he could recall, he had spent much of his life on the fringes of groups of people, never forming any solid bonds with anyone. Before Tōshirō, the person he had been closest to was the Rukongai dye-maker who had employed him. Ironically enough, that relationship had largely been based on mutual gains as his current friendship was rumored to-- the dye-maker got cheap, enthusiastic labor and Sōjirō got food for doing a simple but interesting job. They had been amicable, but their business relationship had not had time to truly fade into the background of their interactions. On his journey to Seireitei he had occasionally traveled with one or more people across a few districts before parting ways, but those acquaintances had been fleeting. At Shin'ō he had tested the waters with several clusters of people. Most were simply acquaintances, but a handful had become more. Perhaps “casual friends” would describe his relationship with them: They got along quite amiably, could have fun with each other, and were generally willing to help one another to a certain extent. Their bonds were not tight, though. They didn't share deep thoughts and opinions on non-academic subjects, didn't particularly share a great deal of their lives prior to their enrollment in the Academy, and he didn't see them as people with whom he would feel comfortable enough to do so to any great extent. Perhaps he was more of a social butterfly than he had thought-- flitting from flower to flower, tasting but never staying, restlessly looking for something _more_. Now that he had a meaningful friendship, his previous state of existence felt lonely. He was so glad he had approached Tōshirō.

Sōjirō still had mixed feelings about their reputations and what deeper issues their souring could indicate. He decided to try to shelve his concerns until he could talk about the mess with Tōshirō. Deciding on a constructive first step beyond sulking made him feel much better. The remaining five days of the holiday couldn't pass quickly enough for him. There was so much to consider and Sōjirō tended to get overwhelmed by avalanches of information unless he had time to sort through it all. He was eager to see what points Tōshirō would focus on after he let it all tumble about in his quick mind for a bit.

That was all well and good but wanting Tōshirō to return immediately wouldn't make him magically appear. Five empty days stretched out before Sōjirō. He vaguely wondered if he could join any of the people he had partied with the other night to do something fun, but still felt tired and a bit ill. The only recreational item he owned was an old kendama. There was no way in hell he had the energy to do anything with it. He could read, but all he had were the text books he had seared into his mind during exam prep. One of his goals for whatever pay he would earn in a division was to buy books to read for fun. It was one of his ideas he had shared with Tōshirō, who had eagerly agreed. But again, thinking of the future when he would have books of his own was pointless for entertaining himself at present. There was only one thing for it: The Academy's library. He had long since read everything in its meager fiction section, but he had discovered that books about the distant past could be read as stories if he used his imagination a bit. Disused books about minutiae that modern history classes now glossed over were plentiful.

Sōjirō detoured from the path to his dorm and headed to the library. The building was nearly deserted. His tread was loud as he traveled down the main room's central aisle, steps echoing sharply in the stillness. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beams of weak winter sunlight slanting in the tall windows. Occasional rustles and shuffles of feet and pages among the stacks revealed the presence of a few others in search of entertainment or study. The only other occupant he actually encountered was a haggard young man Sōjirō vaguely recognized as a student in the regular sixth year class who was known to struggle. The guy hurried out of the reijutsu theory section and past Sōjirō without noticing him, desperately clinging to a couple books. The idea of seeing what the stressed guy so badly needed help with crossed Sōjirō's mind but really, he did still feel a bit unwell. All he wanted to do was choose a history book whose subject was so far in the past it could be like reading about an entirely different world and hole up in his dorm, reading curled up in his warm futon until he fell asleep. He felt a bit guilty. Perhaps he'd check in again tomorrow to see if there was something he could do.

Sōjirō wandered down the dimly-lit aisles of the older history books, idly fingering the worn spines of familiar titles as he moved. He passed the point where experience told him history began to give way to legend and inspected titles more closely. _The Life and Crimes of the First Kenpachi_ \-- too morbid. _The Monstrous Flame That Walked the Earth_ \-- too morbid. _The First Thirteen Blades_ \-- he'd already read it. Also, too morbid. _Forty-Six Pillars of Civilization_ \-- read it, too. _The Hallowed City_ \-- he had read it three times now, fascinated by the legends about the site and foundation of Seireitei. He wanted something different. _The Dauntless Scribe: Forefather of the Kuchiki_ \-- ooh, a book about an old-timey historian who had traversed Soul Society to gather legends. Interesting. And it had been written by an early member of the Kuchiki Clan, so it might not have as much flowery glorification of the family. Actually, even glorification could suit his purposes if done the right way, plus the early Kuchiki had risen to prominence largely based on a reputation for crafting excellent literature. Mind made up, Sōjirō snagged the battered tome and strolled back the way he had come, still glancing idly at titles.

As Sōjirō turned onto the main aisle, he stepped into someone's path. Said person had been moving quite swiftly and their collision knocked both boys and a stack of books to the floor. Sōjirō's first thought was that he must have run into the harried guy he had seen earlier, but when he turned around he found a different young man: Yuu Aotoa, whose presence in the library was so constant that he had been considered background scenery by students for the past six years.

Stormy blue eyes glared at Sōjirō past glasses that had been knocked askew. “ _You_ ,” he sneered. Aotoa smoothed his dark blue hair back from his face and righted his glasses. He dusted off the sleeves of his kimono and began to gather his books. He continued to glare at Sōjirō out of the side of his eyes. Sōjirō opened his mouth to apologize but was cut off.

“What, sober enough to get to the library, but not sober enough to walk without running into people?”

Sōjirō blinked, nonplussed. “What?”

“You heard me. Or maybe you don't understand things without your pet genius to act as your interpreter.”

Sōjirō's mouth fell open. The audacity shocked him. “Excuse me?”

“Or maybe your mind is still addled by alcohol. You were so drunk you didn't know where to look to see the sunrise, so it wouldn't surprise me.”

Sōjirō began to speak, then paused as blurry memories swam into focus. Light reflecting off glasses. A book and a tea cup. _Without your pet genius--_ His eyes narrowed. “It was you.”

Aotoa's face fell into a parody of surprise as he stood. “Oh, you were conscious enough to register faces and voices. How impressive.”

Sōjirō's first impulse was to lash out verbally, but he squashed it. He stood stiffly and picked up his own book. “I apologize for running into you,” he ground out.

Aotoa sniffed disdainfully. “What are you even doing here?” He glanced at the book in Sōjirō's hands. “Do you even know how to choose a book without someone helping you? Those fairy tales aren't going to get you anywhere this term. Perhaps your supposed improvement is just the teacher's pet telling you how to stay on topic. Like a little boy leading his puppy around by the leash.”

Sōjirō forcefully controlled his breathing as his anger mounted. “You do realize I held steady at ninth in the Special Advanced Class long before I ever met Hitsugaya-san, don't you? Since you seem so interested in remembering things people do.”

“I am well aware.” Aotoa arched his eyebrows with sinister curiosity. “I do wonder who you were leeching off of before he transferred in.”

Sōjirō's blood sang in his ears as his fury skyrocketed. His control slipped somewhat, his face settling into a snarl. “I suppose you think someone like me could never score higher than you on my own merit.”

Aotoa pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with two fingers, everything about him screaming disdain. “Of course. I was taught by excellent tutors before I ever came to this school. Obviously, someone of my caliber should place higher than a Rukongai urchin like you. Barring extenuating circumstances, of course. I hear Rukongai brats grow up advancing through deception and theft. It's hardly surprising that such strategies are employed by your kind in the Academy. Even against each other.” Aotoa smiled unpleasantly. “If you're as smart as you think you are, you've served your purpose for that scheming brat. I think you will soon find yourself... disposable.”

Sōjirō's face twisted in rage. Many wrathful rebuttals flitted in and out of his mind. He clenched his free hand so hard that his nails bit into his palm. An object less sturdy than the book in his other hand would have been crushed. Potential reactions were rapidly considered-- punching the arrogant ass, slapping him with the hefty book, spitting on him-- and discarded just as quickly. He was one to plan his strikes carefully, to project the consequences of his actions in search of a desirable outcome. Sōjirō concluded that the vindictive retaliation that might make him feel better in the short term would end very badly for him in the long term. He ground his teeth and resented his position, dearly wishing to put the elitist noble in his place. Instead, Sōjirō abruptly turned to leave.

“Oh? Not going to defend yourself?” Aotoa sounded smug. Disappointed, but smug.

Sōjirō stopped, looked over his shoulder, and coolly asked, “Why do you want me to?”

Caught off guard, Aotoa protested, “I didn't say I wanted you to.”

An unimpressed frown crossed Sōjirō's face. “You may as well have. You're blatantly taunting me and wondering why I'm not reacting. You're like a child who wants attention. I'm not going to dignify that... nonsense... with a response. Believe what you want if conjuring excuses lets you sleep at night. Have a nice day.” He turned around and swept through the library, his rage outwardly restricted to the swift sharpness of his gait and the furious scowl on his face.

The camera fly didn't express any particular emotion as it trailed behind him.

x§x§x

Sōjirō spent all his free time between that afternoon and lunch the next day engrossed in his book. Come afternoon, he ventured to the library in search of the student who had seemed so desperate and volunteered to take a look at his problem. He was quite pleased to find the subject fell within his academic strengths-- namely, visualization. Thus began a rambling lecture that involved a lot of gestures and figures drawn on paper to explain the molding of reishi to form different kidō. Somewhere between the charades, doodles, chicken scratch, and multiple metaphors, something clicked for the guy.

“Wait, wait, wait-- yeah!” The guy flipped back to an earlier section of the book. “So that's what they were trying to say! And the next part--” he paused to read for a moment-- “yeah, that makes more sense now. I think I know where I went wrong. I think I can manage with a re-read.” He grinned up at Sōjirō, tiredly happy. “Thank you so much, Kusaka-san.”

Sōjirō returned the smile. “No problem, Motosuwa-san. Let me know if I can help you with anything else, okay? I'm not sure how often I'll be in the library for the rest of the holiday, but you should be able to find me at meals.”

“All right. Thanks again, really. You're a lifesaver.”

Sōjirō excused himself and meandered toward the exit, quite pleased with himself. A small glimmer at the edge of his vision drew his attention. He turned and saw Aotoa lurking just in the shadows of the stacks, wan light reflecting off his glasses as he scowled. The library was so quiet because of the holiday that the pompous jerk had to have been aware of the spirited tutoring session. Newly annoyed, Sōjirō suppressed the childish urge to stick his tongue out at Aotoa. Instead, he allowed a small, condescending smirk for the library lurker, turned away, and strode to the door with his head held high.

Once outside, Sōjirō found his agitation had converted itself to excess energy. He wandered around campus erratically. The beauty of softly falling snow helped cool his temper. By the second time he passed the administration wing, he had settled into a more contemplative mindset. His daydream-like state kept him from noticing the man who strode around the corner. Sōjirō was quite startled to find himself on the ground after a second collision. This time he fell in cold snow. He leapt to his feet and frantically brushed cold powder off his clothes before it could melt. Then he turned to apologize to his unfortunate victim. The first syllable wasn't even out of his mouth when he froze in horror as his brain processed what he saw.

He had plowed into a captain of one of the Thirteen Divisions.

What.

The captain hadn't fallen, but his glasses were knocked askew and he was brushing snow off of a handful of portfolios. Sōjirō was certain any documents a captain would carry must be awfully important.

He was so screwed.

Sōjirō gaped and worked his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. His brain coughed up the man's identity: Captain Sosuke Aizen of Fifth Division. He taught a class at the Academy. He thought. Which one? His mind went blank again. He could just see his shinigami career path veering off into a wasteland.

“I'm terribly sorry. Are you all right?”

It took a moment for the words to really register in Sōjirō's brain. He must have misheard. “What?”

The captain looked concerned. “Are you all right? You had quite a fall, there.”

“Oh. Uhhhhhhh. Yeah.” Sōjirō shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I mean, I'm fine. I'm so sorry for running into you. I was distracted and-- um. I'm sorry!” He bowed deeply, mortified.

Captain Aizen chuckled. “Stand up. It's fine. Let's chalk this up to mutual inattention. I am equally at fault. I must confess, I was looking at the sky instead of my path. The snow is quite distractingly lovely when it's falling this gently.” He looked heavenward, his face contemplative. “Don't you think?”

Bewildered, Sōjirō looked up at the lightly swirling snowflakes as they meandered their way to earth. After a long pause, Sōjirō belatedly realized he was supposed to answer. “Oh. Uh. Yes. Very. Pretty, that is. I was looking at it, too. The snow. And thinking. And stuff. So I wasn't paying attention and did I say how I am _so sorry_ \--?”

Another laugh. “Really, there was no harm done.”

Captain Aizen looked amused. Sōjirō's brain shifted from blind panic to cautious optimism. Silence stretched between them. Sōjirō saw that Captain Aizen was looking at him keenly. He felt the desperate need to fill the silence.

“So, uh, Happy New Year, Captain Aizen.”

One corner of the captain's mouth quirked up. “Happy New Year to you, too... I'm sorry, I recognize you but I can't quite place your face.”

“Oh! I'm Sōjirō Kusaka, sir!” Okay, so he was still wide-eyed and a bit panicky and, yeah, kind of starstruck. The Captain of the Fifth Division recognized him?! _Whaaaaat?_

Captain Aizen snapped his fingers. “Yes, that's it. Happy New Year, Kusaka-kun.”

“Happy New Year, Captain—wait, I said that. Uhhhh. You know who I am?” If he was ever asked about it later, he would refuse to admit that his voice squeaked when he asked his question. He had no idea whether being recognized was good or bad.

“Yes. You are a sixth year in the Special Advanced Class. Student performance reports include a photo. I've been going through the reports since the holiday began, making notes.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“Actually, I'm glad I ran into you.” Captain Aizen laughed. “Literally. I suppose it's a good thing I forgot some of my lesson plans after all. Come with me to my office, won't you? I'd like to speak with you, and while the weather _looks_ truly beautiful the cold gets bothersome after a bit.”

“You want to speak with _me_?” Totally not squeaking. Nope.

“Yes. Unless this is a bad time?”

“No!” A captain deferring to a student's schedule? Will wonders never cease? “I mean yes! Ahhhh, I mean, no, I don't have anywhere to be. So yeah, I can talk.” Sōjirō cringed. “I'm so sorry I'm being so weird. I've never talked to a captain before.”

Captain Aizen smiled sympathetically. “Don't worry. I understand. Even I was once a new recruit meeting a captain for the first time.” He took a few steps past Sōjirō and glanced back over his shoulder. “Come.”

Sōjirō dutifully followed Captain Aizen back the way he had come. Ten minutes later, he was seated in front of a large desk in a tastefully decorated office as the captain lit lamps and prepared tea. _A captain was making tea for him_. Really, was it topsy-turvy day or something? Was he having a particularly weird dream?

A few moments later, the captain and the student sat across from one another at the desk, regarding each other over steaming cups of tea. Captain Aizen was the picture of poise as he sipped; Sōjirō tried to emulate him but ended up gripping his cup in both hands as if clinging to sanity.

“So, Kusaka-kun, I wanted to speak with you about your performance evaluation.”

“Oh?” Still not squeaking. Really.

“Your consistently good performance and work ethic are admirable, as is your recent improvement. Congratulations on that, by the way.”

“Uh, thank you, sir.”

Captain Aizen set down his tea cup. “I do have a couple concerns, as far as recruitment goes. The first is that you appear to have trouble maintaining meditation. This is a minor problem for now and honestly quite expected among new graduates. Still, it is an essential component in connecting with your zanpakutō spirit, and that connection is essential to advancing in the ranks. Your class will receive extra emphasis on shifting from meditation into jinzen during this coming term. Some of the Advanced students manage to manifest their zanpakutō before graduation. If you can at least make contact with your spirit, you will have an edge over your peers. So many shinigami take such a long time to meet their spirits that a new graduate who has already done so is quite coveted by all divisions.”

Sōjirō blinked, a bit overwhelmed that a captain was essentially giving him career advice. He decided to pretend he was dreaming and roll with it. “Oh. I understand. I'll really pay attention to that this term.”

Captain Aizen smiled. “I don't doubt you will.” He looked serious again. “However, you have one great stumbling block in your path. Should you wish to be an officer of any level, you absolutely must do something about your penmanship.”

Sōjirō bit his lip and felt his face heating with a blush. “Oh. I know it's pretty bad, but I thought I'd work on it after I graduated. I didn't think it would be too important.”

Captain Aizen shook his head slightly and sipped at his tea. “It is quite important. Even unseated shinigami are expected to complete regular reports on their duties. Seated officers have larger burdens of paperwork as they rise through the ranks. There is little room for error in quite a few areas of documentation. If your handwriting cannot be read at a glance, it can create problems. If a division is considering both you and a candidate they consider your equal in every other way, they will probably choose the candidate who is likely to make paperwork go more smoothly.”

Sōjirō looked down at his cup, face burning. “Oh. I hadn't thought of that.”

The captain smiled sympathetically. “I don't blame you. Neat completion of paperwork isn't exactly held up as one of a shinigami's crucial skills. There is far more emphasis on field work. However, the Thirteen Divisions would fall into disarray without the structure provided by paperwork. Subordinates who come to be known for their efficiency in completing paperwork find themselves favored by their superiors, sometimes more than those who excel in battle. A demonstrated ability to perform well in both spheres is priceless. As the Academy's calligraphy instructor, I wanted to warn you about this before you found out the hard way. You have three months to improve before your final evaluations. I think it would be wise to do so.”

Sōjirō fought his embarrassment. He sat hunched over his tea, nervously rubbing a finger over the rim of his cup. “Oh.” He gathered himself and sat up, then looked the captain in the eye with determination. “What would you suggest I do, Captain Aizen?”

Captain Aizen stared at him for a moment, then slightly inclined his head and looked pleased. “I wish I could simply offer you a place in one of my classes. However, even the beginner class is beyond the basics you'll need to start with. If you like, though, I can arrange for one of my students to tutor you as much as possible. I do have a fifth year student who missed a good deal of work due to a hand injury. He has been asking for extra assignments to make up for lost time. He's actually quite good, so it should work out well for both of you. If he declines, I know of a few others who might be interested. Providing you are, of course. I know last term is very busy.”

“Yes! I'm very interested.” Sōjirō leaned forward in anticipation.

Captain Aizen smiled. “Excellent. I will make inquiries and send you a message by the second week of the new term. We can sort out all the details during a meeting that weekend.”

Sōjirō grinned. “Thank you, sir!”

“You are quite welcome.” Captain Aizen finished his tea.

Sōjirō fiddled with his teacup, bashful again. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Why me? I mean, you don't know me, and I'm not the top of my class--”

“Not far from it, though.”

“Uh. Yeah. I guess. But still. Why go out of your way to help me like this?”

“I feel it is my duty as a teacher.” Captain Aizen tapped his teacup and tilted his head sideways, studying Sōjirō for a few moments. “And you deserve it.”

Sōjirō was taken aback. Before he could come up with a response, Captain Aizen glanced at a wall clock and straightened.

“Ah, we really should be going. You need to get dinner and I need to oversee the next shift change of the holiday volunteers. Oh, my papers!” He shuffled about, gathering papers from two different drawers and a stack on the desk.

Sōjirō awkwardly cast about for something to do and settled on gathering their empty teacups and carrying them to the small sideboard. He blinked in confusion and wondered what to do with them. “There's no sink.”

Captain Aizen laughed self-effacingly. “Ah, there was only water for tea because I forgot to empty the pitcher before the holiday. I'm very busy and tend to forget little things at times. Dump the leaves from the pot in the trash and leave everything on the counter. Housekeeping will find it before classes start. Ah, and please put out the lights.”

He finished gathering his papers as Sōjirō obeyed. He tapped them into neat stacks, slid them into the portfolios he had brought with him, and swept toward the door as Sōjirō put out the last lamp. Both exited. Captain Aizen locked the door and turned to smile warmly at Sōjirō. “I look forward to working with you, Kusaka-kun. Enjoy the rest of your holiday.”

“Oh, uh, I... look forward to it, too. And thank you. For everything. And the tea. Happy New Year, Captain Aizen.” Sōjirō bowed respectfully.

Captain Aizen nodded and left, moving with a refined confidence, sure steps echoing in the abandoned twilit hall. Sōjirō stared at his back dumbfounded and wondered if the last half hour or so had actually happened.

A seed of admiration took root in Sōjirō's heart. Captain Aizen, with his strength and intelligence, his class and his kindness, was truly the most noble shinigami Sōjirō had ever met.

x§x§x

The remainder of the holiday passed easily enough for Sōjirō except for one minor jaw-grinding exchange with Aotoa when he returned the history book to the library and checked out a book on calligraphy. At mealtimes he alternated sitting with others and sitting alone. By the last day of break, he was sliding into boredom.

Sōjirō wandered around the dorms exchanging greetings as students returned from their visits home, hoping he'd run into Tōshirō. When he had yet to appear by dinner time, Sōjirō became increasingly worried. He collected his meal and sat alone at his and Tōshirō's usual place. Heavy snowfall blotted out much of the view out the windows. He picked at his food and squinted into the snowscape in turns. Thus distracted, he jolted when a tray abruptly rattled onto the table across from him. Sōjirō blinked in surprise as his missing friend unceremoniously plopped into his seat.

Sōjirō grinned. “Tōshirō! There you are! I was getting worri-- wow, you look awful.”

“Pssh, thanks,” Tōshirō scoffed. The boy looked exhausted, hair wild and dark circles under his eyes. He blinked sleepily down at his tray of food as if wondering what he was supposed to do with it.

“What happened?”

Tōshirō picked up his chopsticks and stared hard at his hand until he managed to hold them properly. “A lot of it is the storm. Wind and melting snow... eh.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, I'm just tired. And my eyes hurt, I guess. Day before yesterday some merchant sent a servant to Granny to order new clothes. Something about a party and sake and fire. I don't think they were supposed to tell us that part. They promised a big bonus if the order was finished quickly. So Hinamori and I have been helping Granny sew for two days. Then Hinamori and I used shunpo to relay the order across town this afternoon. We just made it. Granny could live off what she made from that order til summer without working if she wanted to.” The boy smirked and looked pleased.

For some reason, the part of that which stuck out to Sōjirō was-- “You sew?” He started to eat, but watched his friend's face.

Tōshirō took a big bite of rice and chewed with his cheeks puffed out. Wordlessly, he lifted his right hand and shifted his chopsticks to wiggle his reddened, callused index finger at Sōjirō. He swallowed. “Yep. Hinamori and I wanted to help Granny when we were little. She started us on picking up scraps and sorting thread, and when we were big enough she taught us to sew. I can't do anything fancy and I suck at knowing what shape to cut the cloth, but once something gets pinned in place I can sew a straight line.” He snatched up a piece of fish and ate it. “Granny says sewing is a life skill. I guess she's right-- I have a little sewing kit in my dorm so I can repair my own uniforms instead of turning one in to the quartermaster and trying to keep my spare set in perfect condition while they take their time repairing it.”

Sōjirō smirked. “Haaa, you've been holding out on me. It took me two weeks to get one of my hakama back from them. Next time I'll just bribe you.” His eyes shone with mischief.

Tōshirō rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Whatever. It'd better be a good bribe.” He held his chopstick hand in front of his mouth to hide a yawn.

“I'll think of something,” said Sōjirō, amused. “So, did you have fun with your family?”

“Yeah. It was nice being together again. I was reminded of one of the reasons I used to run off and play spinning tops on my own towards the end, though.”

“Oh? Family problems?”

Tōshirō swallowed and stared at the ceiling contemplatively. “Kind of, but not really? I mean, I love my sister, obviously, but sometimes she's a bit too... relentlessly chirpy, I guess. I mean, somehow Granny managed to raise an extreme optimist and a... I guess I'm kind of a cynic. She managed to raise both extremes under one roof. The two of us see the world in completely different ways. Don't get me wrong, I'm really happy Hinamori is that happy with... pretty much everything... but the sheer force of her cheerfulness gets tiring sometimes. Especially when she latches onto one subject.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Hmm. When we were little it would be things like endlessly talking about a festival or a new game or something. Over the holiday, it was her captain.”

Sōjirō tilted his head to one side. “Oh? Who is her captain, anyway?”

Tōshirō huffed and airily replied, “Captain Sōsuke Aizen of the Fifth Division, the most perfect shinigami in the history of Soul Society, _obviously_. As my sister tells it.” Sōjirō opened his mouth to bring up his meeting with said captain but was interrupted by Tōshirō, who rolled his eyes and scowled. “She talked about him _so much_ \-- Captain Aizen did this, Captain Aizen did that, Captain Aizen says whatever, Captain Aizen likes such-and-such, Captain Aizen is _sooo amaaazing_. Everything we did somehow came back to him. I swear if someone else tries to talk to me about him, I'll scream.” He grumpily stabbed a vegetable and ate it fiercely.

Awkward. Sōjirō swallowed his original topic and cautiously asked, “Do you not like him or something?”

Tōshirō blinked in surprise. “What? No. I don't know. I've never met him. I've only ever heard good things about him. It's just... have you ever had too much of a good thing and started to want it to go away?”

“Umm.” Sōjirō stared at his bowl thoughtfully as he shifted the contents about. “I guess? I told you about that wandering musician I paired up with to cross a few districts, right?”

“Yeah.”

“The first night I ran into him, he played this beautiful song. I loved it. But then he played it at every inn, tavern, and marketplace we stopped at and, well...” He shrugged sheepishly.

Tōshirō grinned wryly. “Started to hear it in your nightmares?”

Sōjirō laughed. “Yeah.”

“Good. Then you know what I mean.” Tōshirō looked relieved. “My sister has been spending her breaks talking about Captain Aizen for several years now. Some field exercise went badly wrong when she went here and Captain Aizen showed up to save the class. She's been over the moon for him ever since.”

Sōjirō tilted his head to one side. “If he personally saved her life then it makes sense she'd think well of him. And he does seem nice.”

Tōshirō huffed and fell into a sulk. “I know. I know I'm being unreasonable. I'm just tired of hearing about him so much. Hinamori keeps saying I should join Fifth Division but I don't think I could bear her waxing poetic every day.”

“I see,” Sōjirō said neutrally.

Both boys fell quiet for a few minutes to focus on eating. Eventually, Tōshirō tentatively attempted to renew the conversation. “You look well-rested. How was your holiday?” He picked up his bowl and sipped at his broth, teal eyes peeking at his friend over the rim. Sōjirō noticed those usually wide and alert eyes were droopy and bloodshot with fatigue.

“Aha, well, uh.” Sōjirō awkwardly ran his hand through his hair. “The last few days have been okay. Didn't start out that way, though.”

Tōshirō raised his eyebrows as he chewed the dregs of his soup. He swallowed and asked, “What happened?”

Sōjirō eyed his tired friend again. A wide yawn settled his mind. “It's kind of complicated. I want to talk to you about it but I think it's best to wait until you won't fall asleep three sentences in.”

“Ha, ha. I'll hold you to that.” Tōshirō neatly arranged his empty dishes on his tray and sat back. He reached up and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles while failing to stifle a yawn. The action made him look terribly young.

Sōjirō stood and lifted his tray, a mischievous smirk playing about his lips. “Come on. I think it's past your bedtime.”

Tōshirō favored him with an irritated scowl.

“I can tell you a story if you like.”

“Shut up,” snarled Tōshirō.

Sōjirō laughed lightly. “Sorry, sorry. Let's go.”

The friends discarded their trays and headed for the dormitory, Tōshirō's grumbling fading away as they plodded through the snow. They reached Tōshirō's room first.

“Well, good night, Tōshirō. Glad you're back. See you in the morning.” Sōjirō grinned and waved.

“Ah, good night. Yeah, see--” Tōshirō jumped slightly. “Wait. I forgot. Wait here.” He fumbled with the latch and went inside. Sōjirō leaned against the door frame and peered into Tōshirō's dark room. His friend knelt by two large bundles in the middle of his floor and rummaged around before standing and returning to the door. He held out a package wrapped in brown paper. “Here.”

Sōjirō took the parcel slowly and turned it around in curiosity. The contents seemed to be soft and bulky without being heavy. “What is it?”

Tōshirō shifted awkwardly and avoided his gaze, scratching the back of his head as his cheeks pinked. “A present. From my Granny.”

Sōjirō blinked down at it, even more surprised. “How would your Granny know me? And why would she give me a present?”

Tōshirō's cheeks reddened. “I might have talked about you over break. And some of the stories you told me. And she wanted to give you something.”

Sōjirō looked between the gift and his friend, bewildered. “But why?”

“I dunno.” Tōshirō looked down and scuffed his toe on the ground. “There's a note or something inside. Go open it and find out.”

Even weirder. “Go? You don't want me to open it here?”

“I-it would be weird to carry it out of the wrapping and Granny probably wrote something embarrassing and like you said, I'm really tired, so goodnightseeyoutomorrow.” He shut his door, flustered.

Sōjirō blinked at the door.

The door opened partway. Tōshirō peeked out. “And Happy New Year.” The door shut again.

Sōjirō stared at the door incredulously and pondered his friend's behavior. Well, it seemed he was still socially awkward. He had obviously reached his limit. But he had actually shared a lot with Sōjirō that night. He was opening up more. Sōjirō finally grinned and called out a quick New Year greeting and set off for his own room.

He set the bundle on the floor and lit his lamp, then knelt before his gift and stared for a moment. The only gifts he could remember receiving had been small and informal, never this large and never wrapped so neatly. Finally, he eagerly untied the string and unfolded the wrapping. Inside was a stack of folded cloth; on top was a card. He looked at it for a moment but set it aside to read later. Biting his lip in anticipation, Sōjirō started unfolding the pieces of cloth.

A summer-weight yukata in faded violet. A winter-weight kimono in dusty blue and hakama in much darker blue, both made of wool. Underclothes to match. Sōjirō gaped at it all. He fingered the light cloth of the yukata in disbelief. They were all quite simply made-- nobles would probably call them plain-- but they were far superior to all clothes Sōjirō had worn in his life. Stunned, he blindly groped to his side until he found the card. He opened it and began to read, occasionally glancing up to make sure that, yes, the clothes were really there.

_Dear Kusaka-san,_

_Please accept this gift as a token of my gratitude. Even if every stitch was a thank you, I would never be able to thank you enough. As you have likely noticed, my grandson has come to be quiet and keeps to himself. He is guarded with other people, even myself and his sister to some extent. Aside from his time with his sister, he has had a lonely childhood. Words cannot describe the joy this old woman felt when her grandson finally spoke warmly of a friend. I believe you have made quite an impression on him, which speaks well of you. He is still shy so you may not know this, but your friendship is priceless to him. I thank you with all my heart._

_I have told my grandson he may invite you to come home with him next time you have a break. You are welcome in my home any time._

_I wish you a Happy New Year._

_Most Sincerely,_

_Yoshiko Arisugawa_

Sōjirō stared at the letter, then looked at the clothes, boggled, and read it again. It was all so overwhelming. He was inclined to think the gift was extravagant and that he didn't deserve to be spoiled so just for saying hello and befriending Tōshirō. Well, perhaps it wasn't as extravagant a gift for someone with the means to live comfortably in Junrinan. He was from a district in which simple sandals bordered on being luxury items, so his perception could be skewed. But still-- he had expected to live in school- and division-issued minimal clothing until he could save up pay. Suddenly having his own wardrobe, no matter how small, made him feel rich. Really, it was too much. But he felt that to refuse the gift would be the height of rudeness.

Sōjirō read the card again, wondering why the old seamstress would indulge him so. Certain loaded language stood out as he rolled around the letter's image of Tōshirō-- _quiet, guarded, lonely, shy, friendship is priceless, finally spoke of a friend_ \-- as if he had never spoken of a friend before. Realization crawled up on Sōjirō slowly as he thought back to Tōshirō's increasingly awkward dodging of the topic of his friends in Junrinan. Tōshirō's grandmother seemed to obliquely imply that there had never been any friends. It was troubling, but it explained a lot about the boy.

The mystery of why Tōshirō had no friends bothered him. He decided to try to figure it out. In the meantime, Sōjirō set down the card and neatly folded his new clothes, marveling at the handiwork. He ran his fingers over perfect seams; the stitches were innumerable, each wrought with care. If each was a thank you... well, that was a lot of thank yous. Tōshirō's grandmother must love him deeply to express such gratitude for something he had thought of as simple.

He carefully stacked the clothes and re-wrapped them in a bundle, then tucked them in a corner and prepared for bed. Before he put out the light, he gave them another long look. Sōjirō fell asleep wondering what it would be like to have someone love him as much as Tōshirō's grandmother loved her grandson.

x§x§x

The boys met for an early breakfast the next morning. Sōjirō stared at Tōshirō, who stared at his food, cheeks pink as he avoided eye contact. He glanced up once and quickly looked down again.

“She _did_ write something embarrassing, didn't she?”

Sōjirō cocked his head to one side. “I don't think so. It was really very sweet.”

“Sweet.” Tōshirō grimaced. “Oh, God.”

Sōjirō laughed at his friend's dismay. “Your grandmother seems like an amazing person. I want to thank her.”

Tōshirō shyly scratched one flaming cheek. “Yeah, she's great. And you can thank her yourself when you come home with me after graduation.” He looked up swiftly. “If you want, I mean.”

_Come home._ Sōjirō grinned. “That'd be great! I really want to do something for her. It just seems like such an opulent gift, you know?”

Tōshirō snorted. “I've seen opulent clothes before. These are nothing of the sort. No fancy beading or embroidery or anything-- just practical seasonal clothes made well enough to last a while.”

Sōjirō's grin edged into something a bit darker. “Where I'm from, that's a luxury.” The shadow passed just as quickly as it came. “Besides, she obviously put a lot of work into it. And she had that big order to do, too.”

“Well, I guess. To an extent. They really are simple. And I think Granny could sew perfect yukata and underclothes in her sleep. Hakama are more difficult, but she's been making them for decades and my sister was helping her. That was before the order came in, so don't feel bad about that.”

“Still--”

Tōshirō rolled his eyes. “Then you can help me tear up and redo the garden after graduation.”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds useful! I know my way around plants.” Sōjirō scratched his chin. “I suppose it would be mostly dirt and dead stuff after last frost, though. Whatever, I did some gardening for the dye-maker.”

“It's a plan.” Tōshirō drank his broth and set down his bowl. He licked his lips.

Sōjirō nodded decisively and sat back to drink his own broth. As he set down his bowl, someone beat a small gong by the door. The crowded hall quieted down as everyone recognized a rare mealtime announcement was about to happen.

Most faces turned to look at the staff member, who turned out to be the meditation instructor. “Attention sixth year students! All sixth year students! Both regular and advanced classes! Your meditation classes will convene in Lecture Hall Four this afternoon. Don't go to our classroom, go to Lecture Hall Four! Thank you!” He scurried away.

Tōshirō and Sōjirō turned to look at one another.

“Wonder what that's about.” Sōjirō drained his tea cup.

Tōshirō shrugged. “Who knows? Come on, we need to get to class.”

The boys had little opportunity to talk. They spent the morning finding out just how much they had to dread from their final term in the Academy. Sōjirō noticed with mounting displeasure that various classmates glanced furtively at Tōshirō and himself. Their whispers seemed loud to his new awareness of them, yet he couldn't understand exactly what was being said. He was unsurprised to find Aotoa openly glaring daggers at them during lulls in their lectures. More worrying were the glimpses of deep resentment the usually-polite Miyazawa directed at Tōshirō and the restrained, calculating anger that seethed in Izawa's long, considering glances at them both. He was unsure whether or not Tōshirō noticed. If he did, he did a good job of not looking bothered. Lunch was a welcome escape despite the cacophony of voices.

 

The meditation instructor made a reminder announcement during lunch. When the bell rang, the sixth year Special Advanced Class students made their way to the lecture hall. There was no one to supervise them, so they fell into guessing why their class had been moved from the dojo in which they usually sat on the floor. Their instructor strode in five minutes late and called them to order.

“Obviously, we are doing something different today. A guest speaker will give you a lecture and demonstration. You will show him the utmost respect, as he holds the rank of Captain.” The classroom burst into excited and curious whispers. The man scanned his students' faces with a stern gaze. “While he does us the honor of making this presentation to every sixth year class, this year we are breaking with pattern. Usually, this lecture is delivered in your final weeks here. A scheduling conflict has come up. We have decided to experiment with the order of the lesson plan for this class this year. I want you to pay attention to Captain Aizen--” He was interrupted by a louder round of chatter accompanied by the quietest of groans from Tōshirō, which Sōjirō couldn't help but find hilarious. The instructor glared and slammed a palm on the lectern. Everyone shut up.“--And apply his lessons through the rest of term. If you do well, we may permanently alter the lesson plan. I stress again: You will be on your best behavior. Am I understood?”

The class sang out the requisite “Yes, sir!”

“Good. Wait quietly.” He turned and crossed to the door, opening it and stepping out.

Sōjirō had a brief moment to glance at Tōshirō. The boy had disguised most of his facial expression, but still reminded Sōjirō of someone who smelled something faintly sour in the air. Sōjirō couldn't help himself. He whispered, “So, you were saying last night--”

“Shut it,” hissed Tōshirō. He briefly glared at his friend then turned his eyes to the ceiling and whispered an accusatory, “Someone is messing with me. It's not funny.”

Sōjirō snickered and quickly countered, “Yes, it is!”

“Is _not!_ ” Tōshirō's face was so childishly outraged that Sōjirō had to look away quickly and cover his mouth to stifle the urge to laugh. Tōshirō looked ready to throw something at him but quickly reeled himself in and pasted a mostly-normal expression on his face as their teacher led the captain into the classroom. Sōjirō glanced his friend's way and nearly lost it when he spotted Tōshirō's eyebrow twitching in irritation.

“Stand!” barked their teacher. Every student obeyed automatically. “Bow!” Simultaneous obedience.

Captain Aizen assumed control of the class with a smooth “Thank you, Jurahi-sensei. Please be seated, everyone.” The mild-mannered man curiously surveyed the students from behind the lectern as they situated themselves. When they had settled into attentive silence, he smiled at them. “Good afternoon. I am here to speak with you about the importance of perfecting your meditation habits while you have a dedicated instructor in the art, accompanied by a demonstration of what taking your meditation to the next level may help you achieve.” He panned the room seriously. “Far too many budding shinigami neglect their meditation classes, especially in this busy final term. You are admittedly given a great deal of work and have a great many decisions to make. It is understandable that many would prioritize everything else above meditation. However, falling into that mindset will hurt you in the future.” He favored each student with a brief, stern look. “Due to scheduling and course load constraints, meditation is only overtly taught in your final year. Do not think that means meditation is an unimportant subject. As Jurahi-sensei has surely explained, you will only be able to perform jinzen and contact your zanpakutō spirits with disciplined use of meditation. If any of you expect to be officers, you must make basic contact with your spirit. You cannot rise in the ranks by much without having a proper connection with your zanpakutō spirit. To know your blade's name is to empower yourself; to grow with your spirit requires meditation to reflect upon and come to truly know yourself through your spirit.” He looked around at the students who were glancing at one another quizzically. “I see I have strayed into the abstract. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Captain Aizen gracefully circled the lectern to stand in front of it. He pushed aside his haori and drew his blade, a katana with a green hilt and hexagonal guard. “This is my partner, Kyōka Suigetsu.” He held it aloft horizontally, live steel innocently resting against the palm of his free hand. “When I first learned her name, I was mystified. I wondered what she might be able to do. The kanji in her name stand for _Mirror Flower, Water Moon_. It was quite the riddle. It took a great deal of thought and many conversations with my spirit before I figured out that riddle and earned her shikai.” He began to slowly pace before the lectern, studying his blade as the class watched raptly. “A zanpakutō's name and abilities are a reflection of the shinigami's personality, no matter how direct or abstract the relation may be. The most notable example of a direct tie between personality and zanpakutō is our esteemed Captain Commander. His zanpakutō is Ryūjin Jakka. The kanji in its name mean _Flowing Blade-Like Flame_. However, ryūjin has a homophone which is read as _dragon soul_ or _dragon god_ , lending his zanpakutō the implied reading of _Dragon Soul-Like Flame_ or _Dragon God-Like Flame_. While I have not witnessed it myself as he reserves his power for only the direst of circumstances, his shikai command is recorded as _Reduce all Creation to ash_. Quite the godly command, in my opinion.” He stopped before the lectern once more and sharply turned to face forward, still inspecting his gleaming blade. The class was still and silent, several students leaning forward in their interest. His intellectual tone shifted toward serious, voice clipped as something sharp glinted in his eyes. This was the mien of a commanding officer. “As you have learned in your history classes, those names aptly describe Captain Commander Yamamoto. He is a mighty dragon protecting Seireitei, his temper and power a banked fire until that which he guards is threatened. His wrath then becomes a blade of fire that flows through the enemy like a burning scythe through dry grass, leaving naught but ash in his wake.”

Hushed sounds of understanding rustled through the students. Captain Aizen paused to leave them to it for a moment, calmly swiveling his zanpakutō to allow light to play along its blade. Then he looked up at the class and cleared his throat. “This brings me back to my own zanpakutō.” Eager to hear more, the students immediately fell silent.

“When Kyōka Suigetsu told me her name, she refused to reveal her power until I had reflected on it as a riddle and come to the correct conclusion myself. It required extensive, ah, soul-searching--” he grinned bashfully at the pun-- “in which I studied myself honestly and met with my spirit as often as I could, as she would steer our conversations in ways intended to make me think deeply. Meditation was crucial. It was only when I knew myself more that I figured out the riddle of her name and was granted her shikai.” He paused, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as the students hung onto his every word. The captain slowly rotated his zanpakutō until the gleaming flat of the blade faced the class, deliberately teasing them by drawing out the suspense. He smiled enigmatically and called out in a clear voice, “Shimmer, Kyōka Suigetsu!”*

Mist swirled around Captain Aizen's feet, billowing out to fill the lecture hall until the students could barely see nearby classmates through the haze. Gasps and squeals of alarm reverberated eerily in the fog.

“It is disorienting, is it not?”

Students turned and looked in every direction. The voice seemed to echo from all around them. Tension ratcheted up quickly.

“You can't see me, and you can't tell where I am speaking from, can you? Fog has that effect-- the atmosphere becomes dense with water droplets, which conduct sound much better than less humid air. If there is a barrier above-- either an actual ceiling or just a layer of atmosphere warmer and less dense-- the effect is magnified, the barrier reflecting the sound waves within the sphere of my influence. I could be standing in the place where you last saw me. Or perhaps--” Someone in the back shrieked in terror as a hand clapped down on his shoulder. “--I could be standing right behind you.”

Captain Aizen's voice went silent. Whorls of mist floated about in a way that had been peaceful but was now ominous. For several minutes only the strangely projected sounds of fearful breathing and muttering ghosted about the room without discernible sources. The fog gradually cleared until the students could see one another, though hazily. Captain Aizen's figure was indistinct but just visible before the lectern. The class calmed and focused on him once again, squinting to see him shimmering in the mist.

“Kyōka Suigetsu's abilities with mist have another useful property. Water droplets do not just conduct sound; they also refract light. This is the source of clouds and rainbows, of the blueness of the sky. Kyōka Suigetsu weaponizes that refraction. Jurahi-sensei, would you mind assisting me?”

The mists shifted as their instructor approached the captain from the side. Students gasped when he drew his blade.

“Now, Jurahi-sensei is going to attack me.”

The words had barely passed his lips when the instructor executed a perfect slice that should have sent the captain's head rolling. Students screamed, reared away, or stood and reached out as if to warn him. Instead of creating a bloody mess, the figure that had appeared to be Captain Aizen collapsed in on itself, revealing it to have been a dense concentration of mist. Most of the fog in the room rapidly evaporated, leaving the captain and the teacher in a perfectly still pose, the instructor over-extended from his attack while the real Captain Aizen stood behind him and lightly rested his blade at the junction of the instructor's neck and shoulder. A low, thin mist innocently drifted around their knees.

Captain Aizen nonchalantly continued, “You see, Kyōka Suigetsu can use mist to bend light to create mirages.”

Hyperventilation and vulgarity were popular reactions. They gradually gave way to fascination and awe. Captain Aizen and Jurahi-sensei exchanged businesslike nods as they sheathed their blades. The captain allowed the shock to wear off a bit before clapping his hands sharply to call them to order. The students reined in their excitement enough to listen to him.

Captain Aizen cleared his throat. “Now, to explain the demonstration's relevance to my lecture-- how all of these abilities tie back to my person.” He adjusted his glasses and assumed a scholarly tone. “Kyōka Suigetsu's name refers to illusions-- the reflection of a flower in a mirror cannot be touched; neither can the reflection of the moon on water. What you may not know is that clouds and thin mist can also cast a white or rainbow-like halo around the moon when it is bright. Her name is connected to water, as are her abilities. Her status as a flowing-water type zanpakutō metaphorically implies several things about my personality. One is that I am adaptable and a problem solver. Another is that I am at best patient and at worst stubborn. These arise from the tendency of water to flow around every obstacle, even if it has to slowly wear away at stone or shoreline. Another implication is that I may be calm as water that can reflect the moon on the surface, but I may be turbulent beneath as with dangerous underwater currents-- appearances can be deceiving. Kyōka Suigetsu's specific technique speaks more to how I prefer to fight. I use bent light and sound to confuse my enemies so that I may remain at a safe distance and strike as I will. This speaks to my cautiousness.” He chuckled. “Before I learned my shikai, I was criticized for my cautiousness in battle. I have a tendency to stay back and really think about a situation, you see. I had to learn to moderate that.” He grew serious again. “But it also alludes to my willingness to strike an enemy from behind. Some would call it ignoble. However, I prefer to think of it as an embodiment of the Academy's commandment: _Do not seek beauty in battle. Do not seek virtue in death. Do not make the mistake of considering only your own life. If you wish to protect that which you must protect... slice the enemy you must defeat from behind._ ” He panned the room with a steely gaze. A hush settled over the classroom, students really processing the meaning of the words for the first time.

After a moment, Captain Aizen relaxed. “Now, all of these aspects of my personality and how I function as a shinigami are things I spoke of with Kyōka Suigetsu during extensive jinzen sessions. Meditation and reflection were absolutely critical to our harmony. I look forward to finding out what you discover about yourselves when you attain shikai.” He smiled, eyes twinkling merrily. “Or, who knows? Perhaps bankai.” The class buzzed with excited murmurs. “You may be able to attain shikai without reaching a deep level of understanding with yourself, but you will never truly master your shikai without that knowledge. I cannot stress the importance of this class enough.” He looked at them imploringly. “Please study meditation diligently.” He stepped away from the podium and bowed his head slightly. “Thank you for respectful attentiveness and thank you for having me in your classroom.” He stood and looked amused. “I hope your final term here is, ah, bearable.”

The rest of the class period passed in a whirl of bowing and clapping as the captain exited, leaving Jurahi-sensei with a classroom full of excited babble.

x§x§x

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%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Con/crit welcome. Especially on characterization. Not sure I've grasped Ichimaru. He's a slippery fellow to write.
> 
> Don't be surprised if chapter five takes at least a month to appear. If this chapter was tricky, the next will be a beast. I have a lot of threads to weave together.
> 
>  
> 
> NOTE ON FALSE SHIKAI: In canon, Isane was told by Aizen himself that Kyōka Suigetsu is "a flowing-water type zanpakutō. It distorts the sight with reflections in the fog to confuse the enemy, causing them to fight amongst themselves." For someone to rattle off a description like that, plus for so many people to be ensnared by Complete Hypnosis, he must have spammed that fake shikai a lot. Why not get as many shinigami as possible by having every graduating class see it? It adds an extra layer to Aizen's plans taking so long-- he had time to hypnotize at least one full generation of shinigami and let them scatter in the ranks. Then if he needs something-- such as luring shinigami somewhere to sacrifice them to his Hōgyoku-- he just has to have an illusion of a superior officer tell them where to go and what to do.
> 
> * NOTE ON SHIKAI COMMAND: Personally, I think it would be in character for Aizen to concoct a more innocuous command to match his fake shikai. “Shatter” doesn't really make sense with mist and bent light. Canon allows high-ranking shinigami to use false commands (see: Ayasegawa) or multiple commands (see: Madarame) and the anime lets them go into shikai without speaking the command, so I don't see why not.
> 
> version one 11/9/14


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